


a spark and a boom

by lilcrickee



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilcrickee/pseuds/lilcrickee
Summary: Mark had said he wanted everything to stop feeling like a powder keg, but the more they leave hanging, the more Johnny can start to feel it too. He just hopes Mark is smart enough to know when the fuse is going to blow.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 198
Kudos: 504





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> before anything else, i must give the biggest thanks to nic for whipping this monster into shape. thank you for your delightful and insightful comments, as well as putting up with my anxiety texts and general whining. you are a star and i love you!
> 
> also, thank you to both my timelines for putting up with all my vague tweets because i hate talking about my projects while they're in progress.
> 
> i ask that you suspend a little bit of belief in this fic. i tried to keep it as accurate as i could, but the internet can only get you so far. 
> 
> title is from troye sivan's "cool"
> 
> finally, this is a gift fic! to myself! because who doesn't love writing ridiculously long fics in a month for fun!!! hahahah ...

The plan was obviously put into place upon the finalization of NCT’s lineup, and they’d all been informed of it in fits and spurts throughout the years. Enlistment would mean that 127 would go on hold and new sub units would emerge. There’d be a resurgence with NCT U. Full 7Dream concepts. The whole nine-yards.

And in one fell swoop, Mark Lee managed to ruin it all.

Johnny’s not the only one staring at Mark in the middle of their round-table meeting. Everyone is. Every head in the room has turned, like a flower to the sun, to stare at Mark Lee.

“I don’t understand,” one of the executives says, breaking the silence that has fallen over the room. His words seem to reanimate everyone, heads swiveling back and forth between colleagues and the person disrupting everything. “Can you repeat yourself?”

“I don’t want any projects this year,” Mark repeats, leaning forward to rest his folded hands on the table. “No units, no solos, no stations.”

“But -- “

Mark shrugs, drums his fingers against the table. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ “Are you going to make me?” he asks after a long moment. 

Johnny holds his breath.

The executive looks like his head is going to explode. His face has turned an unsightly shade of red and there’s sweat beading at the corners of his brow. He can’t say _yes_. Despite the contract that binds Mark to the company, any project they force him into will be lacklustre. There won’t be any heart in it, and they all know the fans will be able to tell. 

They also know the fans will stir up the rumour mill.

“Let’s take a 15 minute recess,” one executive says, pushing her chair back from the long table they’re all seated at in the boardroom. “Have some water, go for a walk. Don’t be late.” She barely makes a sound as she exits the room, her heels sinking into the carpet. After a moment, the other executives leave the room too, leaving behind 13 young men all in various states of disbelief.

Johnny stands up. “Take a walk with me?” he asks Mark. Once again, all heads turn as one.

“Sure,” Mark says with a shrug. He stands with an audible pop as his knees seem to settle back into their sockets, and then follows Johnny out of the room.

The plan -- as of 10 minutes prior -- had been several sub-unit projects for NCT upon Taeyong’s departure for the military. With their leader and main rapper gone, it would leave a gap in 127 that would be too big to fill. Acting projects and the potential revival of NCT Night Night. There would be more 7Dream content, vocal line station songs, collaborations. Johnny had taken a look at the plan once, had spotted his name listed next to more than a couple projects. But what he’d noticed most had been all the projects that Mark had been listed next to, like Mark was expected to wear his own shoes but fill Taeyong’s as well.

“Wanna tell me what’s up?” Johnny asks, leaning against the wall next to the vending machines on their floor. Mark’s examining the contents of the snack machine, as if the selection has changed much over the past 11 years. He finally settles on a bag of M&M’s, all while ignoring Johnny. “Hey, Mark Lee. Tell me what’s going on in that messy little brain of yours.”

Mark retrieves his M&M’s from the bottom of the machine and fixes Johnny with a scowl. It’s so reminiscent of when they were trainees that Johnny almost loses his cool. Almost.

“Aren’t you ever tired?” Mark asks, ripping open the top of the bag and extending it towards Johnny. Johnny holds out his hand, lets Mark dump a handful of candies into his palm. “Don’t you ever want more?”

“That’s a dumb question. Of course I do, and you know it,” Johnny replies. He tosses the handful of candies into his mouth and chews them sullenly. “Can’t believe that half our team is going to go to the military and I’m still going to have shit line distribution and screen time.”

Mark laughs, but it’s humourless. He tips the bag of M&M’s into his mouth. Johnny watches the line of his throat as he swallows, observes the way Mark’s ink black hair flops across his forehead when he straightens up. He’s got his glasses on today, the gold frames glinting softly in the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. It’s the sort of image that Johnny defaults to in his head when he thinks of Mark: the simplest, most honest look he can have. 

“I mean, like, personally. Don’t you ever want to just. Go on vacation? Have a girlfriend? Be a shitty person and not be judged by a billion people for it?”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Johnny asks. “Being a shitty person?”

Mark shrugs. “I love what we do. And I’m grateful for the opportunities I’m given, but. I’m so tired. I put all those things into my schedule one night and I had, like, three weeks off total during the entire time Taeyong-hyung will be away. That’s just stupid.”

“Then turn down a few things, not all of them,” Johnny suggests. “You’re being selfish.”

Mark’s head rolls on his neck as he turns to look at Johnny over his shoulder. “Yeah, and when was the last time we were afforded such a feeling?” he drawls. 

Johnny wishes he could say he didn’t know the exact moment Mark became cynical and snarky off camera. He wishes he didn’t know the exact cause, wasn’t privy to the most critical moment of Mark’s life and how reality had come in and snatched his innocence away from him. How Mark had dreamed of one future and the company had handed him a different one.

“They won’t give you everything you want,” Johnny cautions. He pushes himself off of the wall he had been leaning against and nods back towards the board room. Mark matches his pace. 

“That’s fine,” he says. He swallows the rest of his M&M’s and dumps the empty package into a garbage bin as they pass. “We can meet in the middle. It’s the least they can do.”

“Sure,” Johnny says. He feels like he’s somehow aged five years in the past hour. “Just be careful.”

Mark gives him one last look before he pushes the door to the board room open. “Aren’t I always?” he asks with a wolf-like grin. He squares his shoulders and steps back into the room. Johnny watches all the executives turn to look at him, observe him with spiteful, annoyed eyes. With a deep breath, Johnny follows him.

“Mark’s taking this a lot better than I thought he would,” Taeyong says, hours later in his bedroom. He’s packing things neatly into boxes, wrapping trinkets in tissue paper procured by their dorm auntie. Johnny has no idea where she finds these kinds of things. 

“I told him they wouldn’t give him everything he wanted,” Johnny replies. He hands Taeyong an action figure sitting on his desk and asks, “Why are you packing everything up? You’re going away for 18 months, not 18 years.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Manager-hyung says you guys might be moving while I’m gone,” he says. “Besides, everything will stay less dusty if I pack it up. I know none of you would come in to dust everything. Well. Maybe Doyoung, but he wouldn’t do it happily.” He seals the box with some packing tape and scrawls across the top with a brief list of the contents inside. Then he grabs for another box.

Johnny leans back in Taeyong’s desk chair and observes the room. Half of it is already packed. The closet is full of empty hangers, only a few clothes remaining for Taeyong to wear in the last month before his enlistment. All of the polaroids above the mirror are gone, packed carefully into an envelope that Taeyong will take with him to the military. 

“Anyway, don’t change the subject,” Taeyong continues. He’s packing books into this box. Johnny pities the person that will have to carry it when they move. “What did you say to him that made him so agreeable?”

Truthfully, Johnny suspects that this was always Mark’s plan. He’s smarter than he lets on, has learned how to grow a thick skin and put on a variety of different masks. The Mark at the table today had been cunning and creative. Let the executives think that they were pulling the strings when Mark had orchestrated the outcome the whole time.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Johnny says. “He doesn’t listen to me anyway.”

Taeyong hums, then glances up at Johnny from under his bangs. Johnny tries to imagine what Taeyong will look like without hair in a month's time. He shudders. 

“When did that start happening anyway?” Taeyong asks, casual. It’s a probing question, though. A barb, trying to worm its way under his skin.

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks.

“I mean, when did you guys stop being close?”

_2020,_ Johnny thinks dully, but does not say. He shrugs his shoulders. “We’re still close,” he says, which just makes Taeyong huff in annoyance.

“Johnny,” he says.

“Taeyong.”

“When did you stop being friends?”

There isn’t a real way to avoid this question, but he doesn’t have to tell Taeyong the whole truth. Besides, it’s not like he and Mark aren’t professional about their relationship still. They’re good at pretending for the cameras, and there’s enough members in the group that fanservice isn’t really an issue anymore. As far as Johnny’s concerned, as long as the crumbled ruins of their friendship don’t affect the group, it’s fine.

“Couple years ago, I guess,” Johnny says. “It’s not a problem, though, is it?”

Taeyong huffs out an annoyed sigh. He’s clearly not satisfied with the answer, but Johnny knows he won’t probe more. It’s one of the nicer things about Taeyong’s personality. 

“I mean, I guess not?” Taeyong replies. “But it would be nice if you guys could sort your shit out. We’re, like, actual full-on adults now, and I think it’s dumb that you’ve let a grudge go on this long.”

This is all kind of rich coming from Taeyong, Johnny thinks as he leans back in his chair. Taeyong is probably one of the most passive aggressive people Johnny’s ever met, so the fact that he’s preaching reconciliation feels like hollow advice. 

“It’s not hurting anyone, and it’s not like the company doesn’t have people falling all over Mark left and right,” Johnny says. “He doesn’t need me, and the company doesn’t need us to be all buddy-buddy again.”

“Sure,” Taeyong says, though he looks a little thoughtful. He looks like he’s scheming, and Johnny hates it when Taeyong schemes. It means more work for him. “Just -- try to reign him in a bit. I don’t need my protege going wild while I’m away.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Yong,” he says before knocking over the pile of empty cardboard boxes stacked next to him. Taeyong squawks in protest, but Johnny barely hears it as he takes his leave. He can be petty too, but maybe more than that is that he’s become jaded after all this time. It used to bother him, but he’s older now. Wiser. Realized somewhere along the line if he couldn’t get what he wanted from this company, then he’d hold things back too.

Maybe that’s why they are where they are. Johnny just translating his business sense into a real human relationship. 

Honestly, he doesn’t care.

What does make Johnny care is getting dragged out of his bed at nine in the morning on a Saturday because some big wigs at the company want a meeting with him. He’d stayed at his own apartment that night, so he at least doesn’t have to fight with anyone for the bathroom. Not that any of the rest of them would be awake this morning on the weekend anyway.

His closet has a mish-mash of styles that have accumulated with the changing fashion seasons. It’s the only issue Johnny really has with having a separate apartment from the dorms: having to figure out what clothes he has at his disposal on any given day. Way too many times has he stumbled out of bed with an outfit in mind, just to discover the shirt he wants is at his other place of residence.

But considering it’s the most annoying inconvenience Johnny can think of, he’ll take it.

He dresses casually for his meeting and then drives himself over to the company building. There aren’t too many people in the building as Johnny makes his way up to the board rooms, not too many people to greet and acknowledge and bow to. It makes everything smoother. The faster Johnny gets this meeting over with, the faster he can go home and go back to bed.

They’re using the board room next to the one they’d used the other day. There’s considerably fewer people in the room today as Johnny sinks down in the seat opposite the head of the table. He leans back casually, trying to cast an air of indifference. It’s not that he doesn’t care, but it’s been a long time since Johnny’s hung off the words of the executives in this building like they’re a life line. 

“Good morning, Johnny,” the man at the head of the table says. Johnny bobs his head in acknowledgement. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Johnny replies. “Wish I could’ve slept in today.”

“Well, we appreciate you coming in,” the man says, like Johnny has made some kind of sacrifice for the greater good. “We have something we’d like to discuss with you regarding the upcoming schedules we had initially created for when Taeyong enlists.”

Johnny’s not overly surprised. If Mark managed to weasel himself out of every single project they’d put him up to, someone’s got to fill all the gaps. Johnny’s not really sure he’s the right person to do the job, but he seems to recall Mark had been slated for a variety show gig. Maybe that’s what they want him to do instead.

“Sure,” Johnny says, easy. “What’s up?”

“We want you to go abroad,” the executive says, which. Is not what Johnny was expecting him to say. 

“Excuse me?” Johnny asks. He leans forward in his chair, props his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together. “I don’t understand.”

For the first time, the executives in the room look unpolished. Johnny can see the cracks in their facades, the way that this wrench in the plan has taken a toll on them. Sometimes it’s easy for Johnny to forget that under all the contracts and the snakeskin there are real people that work at this company, people who depend on their activities for their paycheques and livelihoods.

“We’re thinking we can still record your parts for a unit project, but they’ll just be digital releases with no promotion. NCT U content. But we want you and Mark to create some content for us.”

Johnny’s brain whites out at the mention of Mark. Mark who had wormed his way out of all responsibilities, who had ruined everything in the first place, who was the company’s golden child?

“Why me and Mark?” is what Johnny settles on finally. It’s the only thing he can think to ask that won’t come out angry and emotional.

“Mark mentioned that he wanted to take this time off to travel,” someone says. The lady had previously been sitting at the table silently. “He wants to explore -- “

“So you thought you better send a chaperone with him,” Johnny cuts in. 

Collectively, the board frowns. “Even though he’s not promoting NCT work, we don’t want the fans to miss him,” the head says. “Besides, the more content he willingly gives, the fewer opportunities sasaengs will have to bother him.”

“Right, and I still don’t see where I fit into this.”

“We thought two people would create better content than one. Plus, we wanted more English content.”

“Then send Jaehyun with him!” Johnny exclaims. He doesn’t care that his facade is cracking, that he’s allowing this company to see the parts of himself he’s long since locked away. “Or Ten! Why me?”

The board at least look uncomfortable by Johnny’s outburst. They shift in their seats, like reprimanded children. “Among other considerations, we noticed an upwards trend in requests for more JohnMark content,” one executive says. He cringes at his own use of the portmanteau. “The lack of Mark on JCC in the last year or so has left some fans feeling … starved.”

Johnny desperately wants to run a hand over his face, to pull his hair. He thinks back to his conversation with Mark: _don’t you ever just want to be a shitty person and not be judged by a billion people for it?_

_Yes_ , Johnny thinks. He wants to be selfish and stubborn and he hates the idea of caving to the whims of his fans. Long gone are the days when Johnny was grateful for any shred of attention NCTzens gave him. Now he’s more watchful, more cautious with the love he offers them; he knows better now.

“You can’t _make_ me go with him,” Johnny says carefully. “Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to come anyway. We’re not close anymore.”

The head raises his eyebrow. “That’s news to us,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the board, “and incredibly surprising considering Mark was the one that proposed the idea to us in the first place.”

Johnny finds Mark in his dorm, staring down a suitcase and a backpack tucked into the corner of the room, waiting to be used in a month's time. It’s reminiscent of every tour they’ve been on, except this time Johnny isn’t excited to go. Instead, he’s furious.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asks, slamming the door shut behind him. He doesn’t need everyone else listening in on their conversation, but he does need everyone to know that this room is off limits. 

“Hi, Johnny. Nice of you to drop by. Weather’s kind of shit today, isn’t it?”

Johnny _growls_ as he stalks his way across the room and shoves at Mark’s shoulder, spinning him around so that they’re face to face. “You can fuck up your own career but don’t drag mine into it too.”

Mark’s eyes go dark. He tilts his head up so he can look Johnny in the eye, juts his chin out in defiance. There’s a tension in his body that seems to radiate off him and saturate the air around them. Johnny figures if he struck a match the whole room would go up in flames.

“They told you it was my idea, didn’t they?” he asks flippantly. It makes Johnny balk for just a second, which is enough time for Mark to weasel his way in to the chink in Johnny’s armour. “They told me they were going to say that to you, like they thought it would be the thing that would make you sign on.” He laughs, a low, bitter sound that Johnny’s gotten used to over the years. It’s been so long that he hardly remembers what Mark’s laugh sounded like before: high-pitched and bright.

“And you didn’t think to correct them?” Johnny asks. He takes a step forward, crowding into Mark’s space. To Mark’s credit, he doesn’t back up, though Johnny’s not sure if it’s because he’s standing his ground or if it’s because the suitcase is right behind him. 

“Well, then I’d have to explain why we’re not friends anymore,” Mark says, trailing a hand up Johnny’s arm in a feather-light touch. When he reaches Johnny’s shoulder, he squeezes, fingertips digging into the muscle there. “And I think they’d like that even less than finding out that we’re not friends in the first place.”

Johnny growls, mostly because he knows it’s true and he hates being backed into a corner like this. He doesn’t want to back down, but there’s nothing left to argue about. “I hate you,” is what he ends up saying, which just makes Mark laugh again.

“I know,” he says, ducking out from Johnny’s space and heading over to the bed where he flops across the comforter haphazardly. “You should probably go back to your apartment and think about the places you want to visit,” he adds.

“I’m not going on this trip,” Johnny says, even though they both know it’s futile. Mark’s already messed up the plan enough; the executives won’t let Johnny fuck with the contingency too.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Mark says, waving a hand dismissively. “Try and come up with a title, too. Something better than _Johnny’s Communication Centre._ ”

Johnny throws the closest thing he can find at Mark -- a balled up shirt from the laundry hamper -- and makes sure to slam the door on his way out, too. He’ll be damned if he has to go on an around-the-world trip with his least favourite person, but the idea of having to convince the board otherwise makes his head hurt. Instead, he goes home, finds the bottle of whiskey stashed in the back of the cupboard under the sink, and falls asleep after the third glass.

The last month before Taeyong’s enlistment seems to fly by. Johnny has no idea where the time goes, but it only feels like yesterday that they were sitting down in the boardroom to talk about the future. Now they’re all gathering at a rental house in the suburbs to throw Taeyong a going-away party. He leaves in the morning.

Johnny’s in the kitchen with Doyoung, trying his best to organize the platters of food they’d had catered for the event. There’s gimbap and samgyeopsal and jjajangmyeon sitting amongst the pizza and vegetable trays and smokies. A weird combination of all the things that they like to eat, crammed together on one table. 

“Just think, Doie, we’re gonna have to do this for you next year, too,” Johnny says, carrying the paper plates over to where Doyoung had determined the start of their buffet line would be. 

“Ugh, if you make me set up my own going away party -- “

Johnny laughs. He feels good, airy and light for a change. He’s been feeling the stress of Taeyong’s departure, but it feels nice to be back together with the group for a celebration. They don’t do this very much anymore; Johnny’s last memory of one had been Taeil’s party the year before. 

Outside, some of the others are setting up chairs. Or, they’re supposed to be. Jaehyun appears to be rolling on the ground with Donghyuck while the rest of Dream egg them on. Johnny spots Mark sitting in a lounger under a tree and scowls. 

They’re supposed to be leaving on their trip in a week. One week for Johnny to convince the board that he’s not going. It shouldn’t matter; Mark had wanted this trip regardless of whether or not Johnny is going. And if he had asked for Johnny specifically, he hasn’t given any indication that he had lied to Johnny that night in the dorms. 

A touch to his arm makes Johnny startle. He drops the paper plates he had been holding, letting them land on the floor with a soft _thump_. 

Doyoung frowns. “At least they all stayed together,” he comments, picking up the stack. He looks out the window, following Johnny’s gaze. “Are you excited for your trip?”

Johnny glances at Doyoung out of the corner of his eye. He’s not always entirely sure how much the others know, how much Mark might have told them. Johnny hasn’t said a word to anyone but Ten, for no reason other than the fact that it’s not really anyone else’s business. Still, Doyoung is looking at him with a raised eyebrow, like he’s surprised Johnny had agreed to this trip at all. 

“I think it’ll be nice to go home for a bit,” Johnny says. The itinerary included stops in Chicago and Vancouver, though Johnny’s not sure why the latter. Mark’s family hasn’t lived in Canada for years, so he suspects it’s more for the content they’re filming than anything else. At least in Chicago Johnny can spend time with his parents. 

Doyoung hums. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt for a moment, a nervous tick. “Look, I know you guys are going through a rough patch but. Please don’t kill Mark on this trip.”

Johnny laughs, but it comes out sounding bitter and tired. “What makes you think he won’t kill me first?” he asks.

Doyoung’s gaze is evaluating and calculating. It makes Johnny feel a little uncomfortable. Outside, Taeyong comes in through the garden gate, not at all surprised even though everyone in the yard yells at him. He smiles and hugs everyone he can reach. Mark stands up from his chair and ambles over, smile as wide and genuine as Johnny’s seen it in years. It’s a glimpse of what he had, of what might still be in his cards.

“I think, maybe, you’re missing more of the picture,” Doyoung says finally, following Johnny’s eyes. He smiles fondly at the scene out the window. “You’ve always been a little stubborn that way.”

Johnny wants to protest, but Doyoung is already brushing past him to bound out the door and throw himself into Taeyong’s arms. He watches the two of them stagger around for a moment before they trip over their own feet and fall into the grass. Everyone around them erupts into laughter. 

With a sigh, Johnny pushes his feelings of ill-will into the pit of his stomach and lumbers out the door too. They’re supposed to be celebrating tonight and he won’t let anything -- or anyone -- ruin his mood. He ignores Mark’s watchful gaze and tosses himself onto Doyoung and Taeyong, laughing as they groan under their weight. For at least one night more, everything can be perfect. Everything can be pretend and make-believe, and Johnny can imagine that nothing has changed in the past two years.

As much as he hates to admit it, Johnny can still remember everything about the night he and Mark crushed their relationship like a crumpled up piece of paper. It’s a reality that haunts him frequently in his dreams, sometimes like a picture-perfect movie of what happened, other times with altered endings, what-ifs that play out instead of how things actually happened. Sometimes the setting changes: the dorms, the car, the studio, but the details always remain the same. The way Mark’s eyes had gone wide and shiny behind his glasses; the way Johnny’s fingernails had pressed crescent indents into the palms of his hands from where he was fisting them out of anger; the way his lungs seemed to collapse with every frightened, panicked, hurtful word out of Mark’s mouth.

He’s long since past the overwhelming heartbreak of it all, but he and Mark aren’t exactly on _good_ terms. Not enough for Johnny to be happily jetting around the world with him for a month. 

“I almost thought you weren’t going to show,” Mark says when he opens the door to his dorm the morning of their departure. He looks nondescript in all black. Johnny had opted for a more classic layered look, but he’s aware now that it makes him look like a professional dragging his petulant son around the airport with him. It might as well be. 

“Shut up, we’re going to be late,” is all Johnny mumbles back, turning on his heel and heading towards the elevator. He can hear Mark’s breathless laughter behind him as he shuts the door and drags his suitcase along. 

It’s weird traveling without the whole group. Johnny’s never done it, really, in the entire time since his debut. The last time he remembers traveling alone was when he had been commuting from Chicago while he was still in school.

“Are you excited?” Mark sing-songs at him in the car. Everyone’s been asking him for weeks, but like everything that Mark does, this grates on Johnny’s nerves more than any other instance he’s been asked. It’s mocking, a reminder that Johnny’s had no choice in this trip, and Johnny hates it.

He swivels around in his seat so he can stare Mark down in the back row. “I will never forgive you for this,” he hisses. He’s certain their driver can still hear him, but Johnny knows all the staff signed nondisclosures when they started with the company. “I’ll play nice for the cameras with you, but otherwise, I don’t even want you to _look_ at me.”

He’s expecting a witty comeback, a snarky rebuttal that’s become his signature in the past two years. What he isn’t expecting is Mark’s wide, surprised eyes staring back at him from behind his round glasses. The expression is only there for a moment before Mark’s face shutters and the mask of indifference is back in place.

“Fine,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just -- hurry up and take out the camera so we can film something here in the car.”

Johnny does as he’s told, pulls out their vlogging camera and sets up the little handheld tripod so he can maneuver it better. He and Mark spend some time cheesing for the viewers, portraying a picture of happiness and brotherly love. Mark even giggles, the way he used to when they were younger.

Johnny hates it.

He hates every reminder of the past, hates to see the stark difference between the people they were and the people they’ve become. Mark used to look at the world with naked curiosity, but now it would appear that everything is jaded to him. Even through all the anger, Johnny hates that he was the one that did that.

They shut off the camera once they get to the airport. There aren’t any fans waiting for them, no cameras from Naver. They’re on a secret schedule, so they make it out of the car and through security with little fanfare. 

The destination on their ticket reads, _Tokyo_. 

Johnny’s been plenty of times, but this is the first time he’s going as a tourist. The question bounces around in his head again: _Are you excited?_ He would be, in any other circumstance. 

Beside him, Mark is bobbing his head along to whatever song is playing on his phone. Johnny wonders what he’s thinking. He must be excited; the trip was his idea, his plan to escape the routine they’d been living for the past six years. For the first time, Johnny ponders Mark’s real motivation for the trip. Is it really just burnout?

The airline calls their flight and Johnny drags himself to standing, gesturing at Mark to get up. He doesn’t look back to see if Mark is following him to the check-in counter, but he doesn’t have to. Even after the years of distance and distrust, he’s always been able to tell when Mark’s trailing after him. Today is no different. Without pause, Johnny hands his boarding pass to the lady at the ticket counter and then steps onto a flight to Tokyo.


	2. a rush at the beginning

Tokyo is sticky. It’s the first time Johnny’s ever been during the summer and he’s not sure if he likes it more or less than the weird, muggy pseudo-springs of his typical visits. 

They take a taxi to their hotel. Johnny’s Japanese is messy and Mark’s is hardly better, and in the end Johnny has to search up the address of the hotel just to make sure everyone is on the same page. It’s a nice place, something Johnny maybe wouldn’t have picked for them if he had been planning the trip himself; if this was a real vacation instead of some company mandated content adventure. Mark doesn’t comment on it at all, but Johnny notices the way he eyes up the building once they step out of the cab with their luggage. 

“This is nice,” he says once they get up to their room. It’s large, two beds and a big floor-to-ceiling window that shows off the expanse of Tokyo. They’re high enough up that Johnny can see for miles until Mark draws the window closed.

“Leave it open,” Johnny complains. He makes to go over to the window but Mark blocks his way.

“It’s too high up,” Mark retorts, crossing his arms. “It makes me dizzy.”

“Then take the bed further from the window!” Johnny exclaims. “Close your eyes! I don’t care. The view is nice and I want to look at it.”

For a long moment they just stand there, daring each other to cave. Johnny’s never pulled his punches with Mark, and he’s not about to start now. Just because the punches have started to hurt more doesn’t mean he’s willing to give an inch. Besides, he knows Mark would take the mile if he was given the chance.

“Fine, have it your way,” Mark says breezily. He slips around Johnny and heads over to the bed pushed against the wall opposite the windows. “Saves you from having to throw another temper tantrum about this trip.”

Johnny bites back his retort, fully aware of the game he’d be playing into. He hates that for seemingly every battle he wins, Mark seems to take another. It’s like an infuriating game of chess and Mark is six moves ahead. 

“Whatever,” is what he counters with in the end. He drags his suitcase over to the other bed and dumps his shoulder bag on the sheets, rifling through it to remove some of the unnecessary added items he’d thrown in there at the last minute. Snacks. A toothbrush he’d forgotten to pack into his suitcase. His watch from where he went through security and apparently never put it back on. “I’m going out.”

This, at least, gets Mark to sit up from where he had previously strewn himself across his bed. “Where?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. It’s cute and Johnny hates it.

“Dunno,” Johnny replies. “Anywhere. I just want to look around, take some pictures. Be a tourist for once.”

Mark looks like he wants to add something else, but his mouth clicks shut with an audible _snap_. “Are you going to find dinner by yourself, or - ?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says dismissively. He grabs his film camera and then the vlog camera. “Can I take this with me? I’ll just say you wanted a nap or something.”

“Sure, sure,” Mark says. He flops back onto the bed and picks up his phone from the table. “Do what you want.” 

“Don’t get into trouble,” Johnny says, only half sarcastically. Mark’s never been a wild child but it wouldn’t surprise Johnny in the least if Mark really let go on this trip. But Johnny isn’t here to be a babysitter; if Mark wants to burn his own reputation, Johnny isn’t going to let himself get dragged down too.

He doesn’t spare Mark a second glance as he heads out the door. It sounds like Mark’s talking to someone on the phone, which is a stark reminder that Johnny isn’t wanted or needed to keep Mark company. It suits him just fine. As far as Johnny’s concerned, Mark’s company isn’t wanted either.

The weird thing about Tokyo is that Johnny has been before. He’s been to a lot of places in Japan, but it’s mostly been to the inside of venues. Occasionally, Yuta has taken him out to eat at different places, has ushered them all in and out of restaurants with a vibrancy Johnny doesn’t see in Korea. He wonders if he’s the same way when they’re in the States.

It’s only the early afternoon. Johnny has the whole day in front of him, and then four days after that. The possibilities of what he could do are endless.

“First, coffee,” he mutters to himself, and ambles off down the sidewalk. He manages to remember to turn on the vlogging camera, tells it that Mark is already taking a nap back at the hotel and Johnny’s off on an adventure by himself. 

“We’ll spend the day together, just you and me, Czennies,” he says cutely, winking at the camera. 

It’s cringey, but he knows the fans will like it. He’s certain at this point it’s not so much the flirting that they like, but a glimpse at his personality that they crave. Johnny’s been careful to keep parts of himself from the camera, to lock away parts of himself that can just be shared with his friends and family. He knows the Dreamies weren’t so lucky. For a long time, Mark wasn’t either. Now he hides the bitterness and anger behind a mask of tight-lipped smiles and hollow laughs.

Johnny’s feet steer him into a coffee shop on their own accord, the bell over the door startling him out of his thoughts. 

“Hi,” he says to the young woman at the counter. “Can I get a medium iced Americano please?” 

She eyes him speculatively, but whether it’s from Johnny’s awkward Japanese or the camera he’s got aimed at the two of them, he can’t tell. Instead, she punches in his order, swipes his card, and gestures to the end of the bar. “Your drink will be ready in a moment,” she says pleasantly. “Thank you.”

Johnny puts the camera away while he waits and ponders what else he should do today. Maybe shopping. If he’s going to have to do some filming with Mark during this trip, he knows Mark won’t want to look at clothes. Johnny’s pretty sure Donghyuck just taught Mark how to online shop a year ago, and even then it was because Mark needed to buy a birthday present for his mother. 

Speaking of which. Johnny glances at his calendar where he’s got the dates blocked out for each city they’ll be visiting. He’ll be in Chicago for his mother’s -- and Mark’s -- birthday. Maybe he should go looking for a birthday present. 

Johnny spends most of the day in Ginza, browsing through the luxury brands. His mum always complains when Johnny buys her expensive things, but he’s certain that she shows them off to all her friends when he’s away. Not to flex the product, necessarily, but probably more to show off Johnny. How thoughtful he is. How generous. 

His phone rings just as the sun is starting to turn the sky orange. They’ve still got a couple hours of sunlight left, but it’s a reminder that Johnny should probably head back in the direction of their hotel.

“What is it?” Johnny asks after seeing that the caller is Mark.

“Just wondering where you are, what you’re up to,” Mark says casually. It sounds noisy in the background, which means he went out today too. 

“I told you not to wait around for me for dinner.” By now Johnny’s learned how to read through Mark’s bullshit. “You’re a big boy, you can eat by yourself.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mark says. “And here I was just wondering if you’d fallen into a drug den or gotten kidnapped by the Yakuza.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Obviously,” Mark draws out the word, lets it linger between them before adding, “we should try and spend some time together tomorrow, though. For the vlog.”

“For the vlog,” Johnny echoes. Everything is for the vlog, for the company. Even a country away and they can’t escape. “Or, what if you take the camera for the day and we’ll eat dinner on Wednesday?”

Mark huffs out a breath. It’s bordering on a laugh, but Johnny can still hear the incredulousness colouring the edges. “We can’t avoid each other forever, Johnny.”

“And we won’t. I have to sleep a foot away from you in a hotel room. That’s enough for me, thanks.”

He waits a moment for Mark’s witty retort, but after several long seconds of silence Johnny realizes he’s been hung up on. It strikes a nerve in him, boiling his blood in such a furious way that Johnny almost throws his phone in frustration. He hates that Mark is like this, that he’s so juvenile. It’s like he’s regressed; growing up he’d always been mature for his age, but now that he’s 23 he acts like a spoiled brat.

Or, at least, he acts like a spoiled brat around Johnny.

It hits Johnny sideways, sending him off balance slightly as he makes his way back to the metro station. Here, in Tokyo, where he’s been before, with someone who has become a stranger to him over the last two years. 

“That’s not my fault,” he mutters to himself as he gets on the train. As far as Johnny’s concerned, the blame lies solely with Mark, and if Mark wants to be an asshole about it all, that’s fine with Johnny. 

He gets back to the hotel to find their room empty. Wherever Mark is, it’s not here. Johnny never asked, either, and he’s not about to call Mark now in case he leaves the wrong impression. Like he cares, or something. He dumps his shopping bags next to his suitcase and flops on his bed, contemplating what he wants to eat for dinner and scrolling through the search page results for restaurants near him. 

Everything is attached to a memory, though. Sushi reminds him of all the times he’s tried to find some kind of seafood Mark would like, Mark making faces at every piece of fish he put in his mouth. Katsudon reminds him of music show waiting rooms, splitting his bowl when Mark whines too much about how delicious it looked. Noodles takes him back to nights when they were trainees and they’d sneak out and go to late-night ramen.

It’s dumb because he’s eaten all these foods with all the other members. It’s not like his only memories of eating them are attached to Mark Lee, but his brain won’t look past these. Mark’s empty bed seems to take up space on the other side of the room, the same way Mark is taking up space in Johnny’s brain. With a huff, he gets up, grabs his bag, and heads out. There was a Korean place on the recommended restaurant list. He’ll just go there.

In the morning, Mark gets ready, grabs the vlog camera, and hesitates by the door. Johnny glares at him from where he’s got the covers pulled up to his nose.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me today?” Mark asks, twirling the tripod around. It’s not as smooth as usual, weighed down by the camera on one end. “Get our group shots out of the way?”

“I’m real good, thanks,” Johnny replies. He wanted to go to some of the historical sites in the city today, or maybe do some more shopping. Not spend time doing whatever it was that Mark wanted to do. 

Mark rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude,” he says. He doesn’t spare Johnny another glance as he walks out the door.

Johnny lies in bed for another 15 minutes before getting up and starting his day. He’s halfway through his styling routine when his phone rings. Johnny almost expects it to be Mark, but he smiles when he sees Ten’s name flash on the screen.

“Hey, superstar,” Johnny greets, which just makes Ten snort in amusement. 

“Hi, hi,” Ten replies. If Johnny recalls correctly, he’s in China filming a music video with WayV. They’re slated to have a comeback later in the summer. “How’s Japan?”

“Lovely, as always.”

“And how’s Mark?”

“The worst, as always.”

Ten laughs. “He wasn’t always,” he says easily. Johnny can practically picture the way Ten is probably stretched out across a couch right now, the long lines of his body draped carelessly over the furniture. Even casually, Ten manages to make everything look seductive and sultry. Johnny’s always been envious of this, with his long limbs and broad shoulders he’s the opposite of Ten’s lithe form.

“I was thinking about that yesterday,” Johnny says before he can think better of it. It’s early and apparently his brain-to-mouth filter hasn’t caught up yet. 

“Oh?” Ten asks, teasing tone making his voice lilt. “Has the Great Johnny Suh finally taken his head out of his ass?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Johnny asks.

Ten huffs breezily. “I’m friends with both of you,” he reminds Johnny. “I can see it from both sides, Johnny.”

It’s not like Johnny forgot that Mark and Ten are close too. It is, perhaps, such that Johnny had thought that his friendship with Ten would be stronger. He knows it's not fair to ask their friends to pick sides, but he knows the Dreamies side with Mark. Sometimes it feels like a gang of seven petty children ganging up on him.

“So you remember what he said to me two years ago?”

“Of course,” Ten replies. Johnny can hear the frown in his voice. “I didn’t mean to imply what he said wasn’t out of line.”

“Good. I need you in my corner.”

Ten sighs. “I’m always in your corner, Johnny,” he says, slightly exasperated. “But being in your corner means that I want you to grow up a little and move on with your life.”

It feels hard to move on when there’s nothing that points towards Mark feeling overly remorseful about what happened. In the two years since their falling out, Johnny can count one extremely half-assed attempt at an apology from Mark, and that was largely because Johnny had caught him watching gay porn one night in his dorm room. Johnny had gone in to get something for their manager and had left feeling anger simmer through his veins like wildfire. Mark had scrambled after him, offering him empty platitudes, but Johnny knew there was nothing to them. Mark had said what he’d said.

“All I meant,” Johnny says, trying to keep his voice neutral while also getting back on track with the conversation, “is that I’ve only ever come to Tokyo with Mark, and most of the other times we’ve been here he wasn’t such a little shit.”

“Nostalgia fucks with you, hey?” Ten says. “But maybe you can use it as an opportunity?”

Johnny doesn’t like where this is going. He shuts off the light in the bathroom and gets dressed standing in front of the open window. It’s fine. They’re on the 15th floor. 

“Look, Johnny - “

“Do I need to remind you of what happened?” Johnny interrupts, pausing with half the buttons on his shirt done up. “Or can you recall me showing up on your doorstep at three in the morning crying my eyes out.” He can practically see the frown that’s marred Ten’s pretty features.

“Yeah, and it’s been two years and you haven’t done anything to get any sort of closure for it!” Ten exclaims after a pregnant pause. “You’re going to be with Mark for the next month. Why won’t you take the opportunity to fix what’s happened?”

The easy answer would be to say that the ball is in Mark’s court. He ruined everything, so he should be the one to apologize. Johnny shouldn’t have to be expected to make the first move.

The more difficult answer is that Johnny is petty. He’s holding onto this grudge far longer than he needs to, and he knows it. He doesn’t need Ten to tell him that. But it’s been so long now that it almost feels -- ingrained. The sky is blue, grass is green, and Johnny Suh hates Mark Lee. Johnny’s not even really sure who he would be without all the hatred that boils through his veins these days.

“It’s not your job to fix us,” Johnny says finally. “You don’t need to be my keeper.”

“Yeah, well someone has to while Yong’s off in the military,” Ten replies.

“Did you have this chat with Mark, too? Or did someone else?”

“We’ve all been chatting with Mark for the past two years, Johnny. You’ve just been too stubborn for us to get to.”

It throws Johnny for a loop, thinking that Mark’s been talking about -- this. Regularly. Johnny’s been sitting on these feelings for so long, it feels almost unfair that Mark’s not suffering the same way he is. 

“Look, I can’t make decisions for you or force you to do something you don’t want to do,” Ten says. There’s more ambient noise on his end of the line, which Johnny takes to mean that Ten isn’t alone anymore. “But don’t you think this is, like, cosmic intervention or something? Wouldn’t you like to be able to release all the negativity and just move on with your life?”

Johnny stares out the window at Tokyo spanning out below him. Somewhere in all the hustle and bustle, between all the concrete and metal and glass, is Mark Lee. One drop in the pond that’s still leaving ripples in Johnny’s life. Johnny’s over it.

“I hate when you’re right,” he mutters, ignoring Ten’s snickering. “Good luck with the music video. You’re gonna kill it.”

“I always do,” Ten replies. He makes a kissy noise into the phone and says, “Have a good trip. Bye!”

“Bye,” Johnny echoes, and hangs up the phone.

If Johnny’s honest, he doesn’t really remember how it all started, or how things changed. Not for the worst, but for the better. He doesn’t remember how things went from brotherly love to hurried makeout sessions in dark corners. It was like one day Mark was a giggly teenager and the next thing Johnny knew he was a fully-fledged adult who could order a drink at a bar anywhere in the world.

What he does remember is the way Mark would sigh into the kisses, the way his whole body would relax in Johnny’s grip. At this point, Johnny’s got Mark’s soft smile and sparkling eyes embedded into his memory, the sound of soft laughs buried into the crook of Johnny’s neck while Johnny smoothed a hand down Mark’s spine. He remembers looking at Mark and thinking, _this could be it_. It wasn’t settling, by any means, but Johnny knew his own heart, and it was set on Mark.

He tries not to reflect on this too much as he ambles down the street in another district in Tokyo. Today he’s in Shibuya, camera gripped between his fingers as he seeks out the perfect shots for his Instagram. He likes being able to share moments like this with his fans, even if it’ll be weeks before he’s able to post these photos. But they’re like little snapshots of his mind, what’s going on in his head. 

It’s hard, but Johnny tries his best to mull over Ten’s words. He hates to be petty but this grudge that he holds for Mark -- it defines him. To let it go would be like destroying one of the fundamental pillars of his life. He’d have to go out and find himself again, or something.

Then again, he had to do that originally when he and Mark flickered out.

Almost as if summoned, Johnny’s phone buzzes in his pocket with a call from Mark. Johnny stares at the caller ID for a long time before he answers it. “Are you in trouble?”

“Why do you always assume the worst?” Mark asks with a dry laugh. 

“I can’t imagine why else you’d call me,” Johnny replies truthfully. “Do you need something?”

Mark hums. “Just wanted to know what you were up to. Want to meet up?” 

He speaks like they’re old friends that haven’t seen each other in years, like they found out they’d both happen to be in Tokyo at the same time and should catch up for old time’s sake. But if Ten’s words about cosmic intervention are true, maybe that is what the situation is like. They’re strangers that have a shared history. Maybe it’s time to rebuild.

“I’m in Shibuya,” Johnny says.

“Cool, I’m in Asakusa.”

Johnny pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it incredulously. “What are you doing out there?” he asks.

“Shopping,” Mark replies. “I have a bunch of stuff I gotta buy for people.”

“Who on earth are you buying Japanese souvenirs for? Everyone you know has been to Japan already.”

“Well, my parents haven’t. But Yuta wanted me to grab a few things, and then Jaemin was all whiney about getting gifts from everywhere we go. And then Jisung wanted stuff - “

“Okay, okay,” Johnny interrupts. If he lets Mark go on he’ll never get a word in otherwise. “Where did you want to meet?”

Mark is quiet for a moment. “Really?” he asks. “I didn’t think you’d accept my offer.”

“Then why did you call?”

Johnny can practically see the way Mark full-body shrugs. Another memory that’s ingrained in his head. “Wanted to see how fast I could piss you off,” he says, but even after all this time Johnny can hear the lie in his voice.

“How about I just come to you?” Johnny says tiredly. “I should find something for my parents, too, and they’d like some of the stuff they have in Asakusa.”

“Cool, cool,” Mark says. “Let me know when you get out here and I’ll meet you somewhere. I went into a few shops that had stuff I think your mum would like.” And then, before Johnny can say otherwise, Mark hangs up.

Typical, Johnny muses. It’ll take him the better part of an hour to get out to the part of the city Mark is in, which is fine. Johnny’s looking forward to a moment to himself to recharge. He’s going to need all his energy if he wants to keep things civil between them.

Somehow, Johnny doesn’t think becoming a headline in a foreign country due to an argument on the street is what the company was hoping for when they sent him off on this trip with Mark. He’ll try his best to keep it from occurring.

Asakusa is a lot less busy than Shibuya. Johnny pauses on the sidewalk outside the station, taking in the small shop fronts and small outdoor seating areas outside restaurants. It’s almost like a breath of fresh air, a small pocket of quiet in a city that’s always on the go.

Johnny’s truthfully never been to this part of Tokyo, but he’d listened to Yuta talk about the trips his family would take into the district whenever they visited the big city. It’s nice in the way that there are no memories of his own here, just a blank slate to craft to his heart’s content.

“Good thing you’re tall. I could spot you halfway down the block.”

Mark appears at Johnny’s elbow, laden down with small shopping bags and the vlog camera. He aims it so that they’re both in the frame and says, with faux excitement, “Look who I found!”

Johnny automatically smiles for the camera, drapes an arm over Mark’s shoulders, ignores the way his skin prickles at all the points where they touch. “I’d ask if you were having fun without me, but that’s probably not possible.”

Mark’s laugh is fake, but it’s a convincing replica of how he used to sound when he was younger. Johnny’s impressed. “Sure, sure,” he says. “Come on. I saw this cool little ramen place on my way to pick you up.”

Mark chatters aimlessly at the camera while they walk down the street, and even though Johnny’s never been to this part of Tokyo before, it’s incredibly reminiscent of the past. Johnny could pick this memory up and transplant it to a dozen cities around the world, and that realization punches him in the gut.

For the first time in a very long time, he realizes how unfair the situation is.

Not the fact that SM has sent them off on this whirlwind adventure when they could be at home making music, but the fact that he and Mark had something good, something perfect, and now they have nothing. Before the fighting and before the kisses they were friends, brothers, and playing pretend in front of the camera drives the fact home harder than anything else did before.

“Hey, you okay?” Mark asks, turning his head so he can look back over his shoulder at Johnny. Johnny’s not sure what his face must be doing, but it must be sad enough that Mark can pick it up on the camera. “You sick or something?”

“Rock in my shoe,” Johnny mutters, which makes Mark roll his eyes and turn back to the camera. 

“Well, we’re almost there, so you only have to suffer for a little longer.”

Johnny thinks about the weeks stretching out ahead of them, the years that will come after this. A little bit longer seems like a lifetime from this vantage point. 

Maybe the weirdest thing about this lunch date, Johnny thinks, is how they never do this. Even before the fallout, he hardly ever went out to eat with Mark, and now here they are, two feet away from each other with a table and two bowls of ramen in between them.

Mark talks a lot, which is also weird, especially since nothing seems to be snarky or sarcastic. It’s all just -- genuine sounding. Very 2020 Mark, which is doing nothing to help Johnny’s weird sense of deja vu he’s been experiencing since touching down in Tokyo.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asks, chopsticks poised halfway to his mouth. 

Mark cocks an eyebrow at him. “Sure,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh, because you’re talking to me like you don’t hate me.”

Mark’s face seems to flicker through a series of emotions before settling on _blasé_. “I mean, I could be an asshole if you wanted me to.”

Johnny hopes whatever his own expression is it conveys the level of unimpressed he feels. 

“Look, I just figured we’re going to be together for the next month. What’s the point in making it as shitty as we can if we could just. Be civil?”

Johnny could argue. It’s not like they haven’t been together in the two years since their collapse, not like they haven’t had to be civil and professional and put aside their own feelings for the sake of the group. They’re always on point in front of the cameras, but when the recording stops, Mark’s never pulled his punches before. Johnny doesn’t see how this is any different.

“I mean, sure,” Johnny replies. “Spending the minimal amount of time together seems to be helping.”

Mark slurps at his noodles. Johnny watches him chew and tries not to look too surprised when Mark pulls a 180 and asks, “What do you think I should buy your mum for our birthday?”

“You’re going to buy my mum a birthday present?” Johnny repeats.

“Sure. I mean, we’re going to see them at the beginning of August, so at the very least it’s polite. But I like your mum, too. She’s so nice.”

Much to Johnny’s dismay, his mother likes Mark a lot too. He never really told her they’d had a falling out, but he’s sure his mum has noticed how little he talks about Mark these days. After the first month she stopped inquiring after him. 

“She’d like anything you gave her,” Johnny says honestly. “Unfortunately, she loves you.”

“Wow, don’t sound so happy about it,” Mark says dryly. It’s the whiplash, the constant back-and-forth between Mark’s personality that finally makes Johnny snap.

“Look, I get that this trip would be a lot better for you if I weren’t here, but this is stupid,” he says, dropping his spoon back into the bowl with enough force that soup splatters on the table. Mark frowns at the mess. “I can’t sit here and watch you pretend like things are fine, like you can just flip a switch and shove all of our shit into a box and not deal with it like a child.”

When Mark looks up at him, there’s a cruel coldness to his gaze. It’s a practiced look, a stage persona that Johnny is familiar with only through the screen of his laptop or phone. It’s like looking at a stranger, but maybe even this stranger is more familiar than whoever Mark has become over the years.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” he says. Where Johnny’s voice had risen in his anger, Mark’s stays level but cold. “Acting like you aren’t holding onto a past just to avoid moving on. You’re so fixated on the past and how I wronged you that you won’t see any other side of the story, which is pretty fucked up.”

“What else is there to see!” Johnny asks. He’s aware that people are starting to look at them, so he takes his volume down a notch. “All I see is a scared little boy who thought he could play a game that he didn’t understand.”

For the first time, Mark’s face takes on a murderous expression. It’s so rare to see Mark get angry that it almost feels like a success to Johnny. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” he hisses, leaning across the table so that their food rocks dangerously from the imbalance. “So quick to turn a blind eye. Did you ever think that maybe in the last two years I know myself better now? Wish I could say the same about you.”

He stands, rocking the table and sending soup sloshing over the sides of their bowls. Johnny watches, shocked, as Mark pulls out some money from his wallet, tosses it on the table, and storms out of the restaurant.

Johnny doesn’t know why he thought this day would be any different from their normal hostility. He doesn’t know why he agreed to meet Mark here anyway. He’d been having a perfectly fine day in Shibuya before it all, and now he’s out in Asakusa, an hour and a half away from their hotel, with nothing to do.

He checks the amount Mark left on the table before gathering his things and leaving. Outside, the sun beats down on sidewalks, reflecting off of shop windows and heating Johnny’s skin. It should feel nicer than the restaurant, less stifling, but somehow, Johnny still feels like there’s a weight pressing down on his shoulders. 

_You haven’t changed at all_. Mark’s words echo in his head as he wanders aimlessly down the street, peering into shop windows as he passes. It’s not true, Johnny thinks, snapping a picture of a building across the street that will look good on his Instagram. It’s not possible to not change at all in two years, but even as he thinks this, he knows it’s an empty platitude. Something to help him sleep at night.

Because Mark had said it and Ten had implied it. Taeyong, Doyoung -- they’ve all been trying to tell him and Johnny hasn’t wanted to accept it. He’s too deeply rooted in his anger, and up until today, Mark has done absolutely nothing to try and fix things. His attitude has only fueled Johnny’s fire.

A group of children hustle past him, shouting happily in rapid Japanese as they poke and prod each other to keep moving towards some destination that is unknown to Johnny. Their happiness is a stark contrast to Johnny’s own dismal mood, but it reminds him of how he used to be. How NCT used to be.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Johnny ruminates on this as he descends into the metro station. Mark didn’t used to be such a brat. He used to be sweet and painfully earnest and eager to please. Now he’s entitled, jaded, burned. There’s a chip on his shoulder that he clings to, the same way Johnny clings to his anger.

It hits Johnny like a lightning strike out of the blue, so sudden that he has to pause and lean against the wall of the station for a moment. He did that. The reason that Mark is the way he is now is because of Johnny and no one else. Maybe it helped fan a flame on all the distrust Mark has for the company in general, but Johnny created this monster he so badly despises. It’s his own fault. 

He calls Ten again when he gets off the train, two blocks from their hotel.

“I turned him into an asshole, didn’t I?” he asks in lieu of a greeting. Ten laughs.

“Sure,” he replies easily. 

“But he’s not the only one hurting.”

“I never said he was.”

Johnny blows out a breath. He’s perched on the edge of a large stone planter, shaded from the hot summer sun by a decorative tree. 

“Sorry I’ve turned him into such a monster,” he says, because he means it. Johnny can handle all of Mark’s animosity, but it’s not fair that he’s had to unleash all of this on the others as well.

“Johnny,” Ten says slowly, draws out his name annoyingly. “Have you ever realized that Mark is only a menace _to you_?”

Johnny opens his mouth and then lets it snap shut again. “What?” he asks. “No, that’s not true.” 

Even as he says it, though, his mind is sifting through hundreds of memories from the past two years. He pulls up every instance of Mark’s hostility, his snappy behaviour and petty comments, and tries to fit the members into the role of receiver. But it’s always just him. He can’t remember the last time Mark was difficult with Taeyong, annoyed Jaehyun to the point of anger. There are no memories of Donghyuck or Doyoung or even Ten coming to him to tell him how clingy and bratty Mark’s been. 

“Look, Johnny, I’m not about to hold your hand through all your dumb emotional revelations on this trip,” Ten says, which is nothing less than what Johnny expected. “But I’m here to support you. Like I said earlier, I’ve been talking with Mark this whole time. He’s surprisingly well-adjusted, which I sadly can’t say the same for you.”

“Hey,” Johnny protests weakly, but Ten shushes him.

“Like I said before, think of this as an opportunity. You’re going to spend a month with him. If you can’t sort out your problems -- your own as well as the problems between the two of you -- I want you to realize that you’ve really fucked up something nice.”

It stings, even though Ten’s always been blunt about these kinds of things. He has his own special brand of pettiness, but Ten’s not afraid of confrontation; he’s not afraid to fight until things are resolved. Johnny, meanwhile, has taken the cowardly route in all of this.

“We tried today,” is what Johnny ends up saying. He hates how resigned he sounds. “We went out for lunch, but we didn’t finish. I pissed him off and he left.”

Ten laughs, like this is somehow a great joke to him. “Mark’s way further along on this journey than you are, Johnny,” he says, “but I never said he was perfect. You annoy him just as much as he annoys you.”

“Well how do you expect us to ever fix anything if all we do is piss each other off?” Johnny huffs. 

“The difference,” Ten continues, as if Johnny hadn’t said anything at all, “is that he’s trying. He’s making some effort, and even if it seems miniscule to you, it’s more effort than you’ve been putting in, my dear.”

Johnny considers hanging up. Ten is starting to annoy him just as much as Mark does.

_Maybe because they’re both speaking the truth,_ his brain offers helpfully. 

“Okay, so maybe I try,” Johnny says. “And then what? We’re going to come back to Korea in August good as new?”

“I’m your friend, not a life coach,” Ten replies. “And I’m sure you and I both know that things are never going to be exactly the same between the two of you. However, I think I can speak for the entire team when I say that we’ll be happy when you aren’t such assholes to each other anymore.”

“I mean, I guess we can manage that,” Johnny says. “Or at least, I’m sure _I_ can manage that. Can’t really speak for Mark.”

Ten laughs. “Change your attitude, Johnny. It’ll make a world of difference. This is your last pep talk, by the way. If you call me anymore during this trip of yours it better be to tell me some juicy gossip.”

“What kind of gossip am I going to find on my travels?” Johnny asks with a laugh. “It’s just me and Mark.”

“Exactly,” Ten replies and hangs up.

Johnny stares at the phone for a long moment before getting up. His legs are starting to fall asleep and the sun has disappeared behind the buildings surrounding them. He hadn’t realized he’d spent so long talking to Ten.

Johnny takes another moment under the tree to get his legs working again before he heads back to the hotel. He does want to fix things with Mark, but it’s just so hard. Mark doesn’t make anything easy, and Johnny smarts with the newfound knowledge that he’s part of the reason why Mark is the way he is. 

But Mark hurt him too. He won’t ever forget that and he won’t let it go. Or -- he _can’t_ let it go. He should, though.

Johnny’s not sure what he was expecting to find in their hotel room when he gets back, but it’s not Mark, passed out on the bed furthest from the windows. As weird as it sounds, it’s been a long time since Johnny’s seen Mark asleep. Like most people, he looks more at ease in sleep, relaxed and tension-free. There’s no crease between his eyebrows, no downward curve of his mouth. He looks younger, and even though his expression is neutral, he looks happier too.

Johnny sighs and sits on the edge of his own bed, staring at Mark’s side profile. Their lunch, though disastrous, had been an olive branch, and Johnny can see that now. It wasn’t just for the cameras, it wasn’t just for the company. It was for them, and Johnny had been too suspicious and angry to see it. Mark was trying; maybe it’s time Johnny put a little elbow grease into this too.

It’s too early to sleep, but a nap probably wouldn’t hurt. Johnny feels emotionally and physically drained, so he sets his camera and his bag to the side and flops back onto his own bed. Maybe he can try again with dinner. Or breakfast tomorrow. They have two more full days in Tokyo, and then another few weeks ahead of them. Johnny’s not expecting a miracle, but he’s hoping maybe things can get a little bit better.

They certainly can’t get a whole lot worse.

When Johnny wakes up again it’s completely dark out. A glance at the clock on the table between the two beds tells him it’s just past nine in the evening. Mark is still passed out on the other bed.

Johnny sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He’d been having a weird dream about an end of year stage they’d done a year ago. In reality, it had gone well, but for whatever reason the dream had warped and twisted so that everything that could have gone wrong, did. Johnny’s not really sure what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much.

He rolls out of bed and flips the small lamp in the corner on before stumbling into the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face helps wake him up, and it only takes another moment of staring at himself blearily in the mirror before he feels truly alive. His stomach grumbles.

Mark is sitting up when Johnny comes back into the main room, rubbing at his eyes with his hands. Even now he still looks childish. Johnny watches with a sense of morbid fascination as he watches Mark carefully construct a wall so that when he looks up at Johnny there’s nothing but bland impassiveness in his expression.

“Hi,” Mark says, voice raspy from disuse. 

“Hi,” Johnny echoes. He inhales slowly, breathes it out again just as slow. The opportunity is knocking, it’s just up to Johnny whether or not he answers the door. “Do you -- want to get something to eat?”

Mark looks at him skeptically. “We didn’t even finish our last meal together,” he points out. “You’re pretty eager to jump back in the saddle.”

The comment makes Johnny bristle. He wants to snap back at Mark, rescind his offer, but he’s trying to be a better person. He’s trying to change. 

“Look, I’m just hungry as fuck right now and it’s polite to ask if you want to get food too.” Small steps.

Mark cracks a smile and stretches his arms above his head. The t-shirt he’s wearing is so large that it swallows his small frame, and it takes Johnny a moment to realize it’s one of his. It’s old, one he favoured a couple years ago that Mark inevitably stole, much to Johnny’s simultaneous annoyance and delight. Now it just feels like a bit of a slap in the face. He wonders if Mark is aware of the shirt’s origins.

Probably. Mark’s always been a _maximum impact_ kind of guy.

“Sushi?” Mark asks, rolling himself off the bed. He jams his feet into his shoes and pulls a cap on over his head. Johnny scrambles to catch up, toeing on his own shoes.

“Sure,” he says. 

There’s a sushi restaurant around the corner from their hotel that’s still open, despite the late hour. The staff all greet them politely and seat them away from a large table in the corner that’s clearly had one too many glasses of sake. They’re noisy, but Johnny is grateful for the distraction.

Mark looks through the menu in lieu of giving Johnny any attention. The tension seems palpable between them, to the point where the waitress looks nervous when she comes by with two cups of tea for them. Mark rattles off an order -- enough food for both of them -- and she hurries off, clearly eager to leave their hostility behind.

“Cheers,” Mark says, nudging his cup towards Johnny’s. “Kanpai.”

Johnny klinks his cup against Mark’s and scalds his tongue on the tea. Judging by Mark’s expression, he’s done the same. It makes Johnny smile.

“So, what made you think we’d have a better meal this time around?” Mark asks, leaning back in his seat. He’s sitting in the banquette seating along the wall, Johnny perched on the stool across from him. Johnny knows he’s being goaded, but he doesn’t want to show it. He wants to turn over a new leaf, so to speak.

“I talked with Ten today,” he says. 

Mark raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?” he asks. He sounds -- nervous.

“He just -- I don’t know. Made me realize I don’t want to spend this entire trip angry and bitter about something that happened two years ago. I should be over it, but you’re right. I’m holding on.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at Johnny with a blank expression. There was a time when Johnny could’ve deciphered every twitch of Mark’s face, but that time has long since passed. 

“I guess. I’m sorry for what I said at the restaurant earlier. Thanks for asking me to come eat with you, even if I had to cross the city to get to you.”

A small smile cracks Mark’s facade, the edge of his mouth turning up on one side. 

“I know I haven’t been the best person the last couple years, but I feel the same,” Mark says, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. Johnny can tell Mark’s other hand is drumming a nervous pattern against his thigh. “I’m tired of everything being shitty between us.”

“Things can’t go back to how they were,” Johnny cautions.

“I know that,” Mark replies, but it’s quiet, a touch of sadness colouring the edges of his words.

Their food arrives then, breaking the heavy feeling draping itself across the table. Johnny’s stomach growls as soon as the scent of the yakisoba and katsudon hits his nose. There’s also a small plate of sashimi that Mark pushes across the table at him. Some things don’t change, apparently, and Johnny’s okay with that.

They talk a little about what they’ve been up to in their time apart from each other this trip. Mark shows Johnny pictures of the tanuki plushie he found for Jaemin, the pretty silk scarf he picked up for his mother. There’s even a few selfies that Mark took in front of various landmarks.

“I sent those to Yuta,” Mark says, swiping past his face until it lands on pictures of food. “And I sent these to Donghyuck.”

“Are you trying to make everyone jealous?” Johnny asks with a shake of his head.

Mark shrugs and retracts his phone, tilting his head to the side. “They don’t have a reason to be,” he says after a moment. “They’ll be here soon enough. We’re doing an SMTown concert here at the end of the summer, remember?”

Johnny has -- a vague recollection of this information being told to him. In truth, he hadn’t considered it extremely important; 127 probably won’t have a big set, considering that their main vocalist and their main rapper weren’t in the line-up, and Johnny knew he wouldn’t be picking up any of the lines left behind anyway. The only difficulty would be re-working the choreo to fit seven people instead of nine.

The table vibrates, hard enough to shake Johnny from his thoughts. Mark’s phone screen lights up, and Johnny watches Mark bend in close to read the message preview before frowning and swiping the notification away. A moment later, a second and third message appear. Mark turns off his phone.

“Popular,” Johnny comments. He watches Mark’s face morph briefly from something akin to unhappiness to a lazy smugness.

“Since you’re not blowing up my phone anymore, I had to find other people to talk to me,” he says with a smirk.

It’s not meant to hurt, Johnny knows this, but some part of him still hollows out at the comment. Mark used to text him about everything, used to _talk_ to him about everything. Now it’s radio silence.

“You’re going to rack up a lot of long distance charges,” is all he says, swallowing a mouthful of tea in the hopes that it will fill the empty void that’s cracked open inside of him. 

“Like I can’t afford it now,” Mark replies, and this at least makes Johnny smile for real.

The rest of their dinner goes smoothly. Johnny pays the bill, which makes Mark faux swoon like he didn’t pay for their ramen earlier in the day. 

“Thanks, hyung,” Mark says as he bounces down the sidewalk back to their hotel.

It’s weird. Mark hasn’t used the honourific with him since they stopped talking. Anyone who noticed chalked it up to Johnny deeming Mark his equal, but it had really been the flipside: Mark choosing to be disrespectful because he had been hurt. Maybe at one time they had been on their way to being equal, but that time seems long past.

Johnny doesn’t think they’ll ever get back to that point, but this seems like a good step in the right direction. He’s still hurting, but he can’t hold onto the hurt forever. This seems like as good a place to start as any.

Surprisingly, Mark agrees to go out to some of the museums in Tokyo with Johnny the next morning. 

“What else do I have to do today?” Mark asks, tipping his head to the side. It makes him look young, boyish. Like no time at all has passed since they were in a better place. 

“I was sort of under the impression that you didn’t like education,” Johnny replies, which makes Mark chuck a pillow at him. 

“I can be cultured!” he says, rolling off the bed gracefully and grabbing the vlog camera off the desk in the corner. “Besides, we have to film more or else we’ll be in trouble.”

Johnny frowns. “What are they going to do to us? It’s not like we don’t have the means to keep traveling if they cancel our tickets or anything.”

“You saying you want to run away with me, Johnny Suh?” Mark asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Once upon a time, Johnny would’ve jumped at the chance to be cheesy and romantic with Mark. He would’ve swept Mark off his feet and tossed him back into bed. They probably wouldn’t make it out to the museums. It’s a life long lost, and Johnny has to bite his tongue to get himself to focus on the here and the now. 

Now, he gets a different Mark, one who’s grown up without Johnny’s hand to guide him. Someone Johnny has to relearn.

“C’mon,” he says, when he realizes Mark is still waiting for his reply. “Let’s get going.”

They spend the better part of the morning at the Tokyo National Museum and its outdoor park. Johnny’s never been to a museum like it. It feels almost weird to be attending a museum that has none of the usual European paintings and sculptures, but why would it? Japan has its own rich history of art and design, enough to fill several campuses around the country. It’s refreshing, to experience something so different.

They film mostly in the park where there are fewer people. Mark chats animatedly about how much he enjoyed the kimono exhibits inside, which is just about the weirdest thing Johnny’s had to listen to this trip. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t think Mark would like educational things, but Mark’s apparently picked up a lot of information from the museum. Whether it’s because he actually was interested or he just wanted to spite Johnny, he doesn't know.

“What was your favourite part of the museum, Johnny?” Mark asks, falling into step with Johnny and pulling him into the frame. 

“The woodblock painting exhibits,” Johnny answers easily. “It’s so different from the typical idea of painting.”

“Maybe we should try it sometime,” Mark suggests. “Bring back JCC with special guest Mark!”

Johnny tries his best to crack a smile that looks convincing. It hurts, having his YouTube series brought up, not so much because he misses it, but because he always had the best time filming it with his friends. Mark was always his favourite guest star.

“If you set it all up, we’ll see,” Johnny replies, tossing his arm over Mark’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine you’d be very good at it, though.”

“Hey,” Mark protests. “I’m not _that_ bad at art.”

“Maybe I should do it with Ten,” Johnny says, noting how Mark tenses under his shoulder. “Or actually, probably Yuta. Probably best to do it with the actual Japanese member of our team.”

“But I suggested it,” Mark mutters, ducking out from under Johnny’s arm with the camera and bouncing off down the path towards one of the shrine recreations. 

Johnny sighs. The hot and cold with Mark is hard to deal with, but it’s maybe better than the two of them being at each other's throats all the time. And the fact that Mark is even oscillating between the two makes it clear that he’s trying his best not to be an ass 100 percent of the time. 

Rebuilding is a two-way street, though. Johnny watches Mark twirl in a slow circle to give the camera a chance to capture the surroundings. He waves when the camera pans to him. Mark’s been trying, and now that Johnny’s finally got a better handle on his own emotions, it’s time he starts trying too. They have one more day in Tokyo and Johnny has the perfect idea of how to spend their last day.

“Johnny’s taking me on an adventure,” Mark says into the camera the next day. Johnny had woken them up early and bundled them into a cab, much to Mark’s protesting. He’d organized everything the night before after dinner, and it feels good to be able to do this still. To pull off a surprise. He used to do things like this for Mark all the time.

There’s still pain when he thinks of the memories, when he takes a moment to reflect on how things were but Johnny figures maybe it’s time for a new strategy. He’d spent a lot of the past two years pretending that Mark hadn’t gone and grown up in the time they were apart; maybe he can pretend for a day that nothing between them ever changed at all. Perhaps for just one day Johnny can pretend that they’re still friends, let alone something more.

“I’m so curious I’m going to vibrate straight out of this cab,” Mark announces.

“Please don’t do that,” Johnny replies, leaning into the frame. He savours the sound of Mark’s giggles as his hair tickles Mark’s neck. “That’d be messy and I hate cleaning up.”

“Hyung,” Mark whines, even though it’s just for the cameras. Still, it feels as surprising as it had two nights previous, outside the sushi restaurant.

“You’ll like it,” Johnny assures him. “And everyone else will be really jealous.”

This piques Mark’s interest even more. He bounces eagerly in his seat like a child and makes a noise akin to a squeal when the sign to their destination reveals itself around the corner.

“Hyung! _Tokyo Disney_ ,” Mark breathes, practically plastering himself to the window. Johnny makes sure to capture it all on their vlog camera.

Johnny’s never been to any Disney theme park before. His family, while comfortably middle-class, had never seen frivolous vacations as something to spend money on when they didn’t need to, and eventually they’d needed the money to send Johnny to Korea every summer. He’d never felt like he’d missed out, but it’s nice to see Mark show so much enthusiasm for what’s often considered as a children’s attraction.

Johnny lets the gate attendant scan the tickets on his phone and leads the way into the park. He has to clamp a hand around the back of Mark’s neck to keep him from running off. 

“Hyung, this is so cool,” Mark says, beaming at him. It’s weird, mostly because it seems genuine, and it’s been so long since Johnny’s seen anything like real happiness radiating off of Mark. Maybe Mark’s just become a supremely good actor in the last couple years. “Thanks so much.”

“I wanted to check it out too,” Johnny points out. He nudges Mark towards one of the stores on the main thoroughfare. “Now come on, I want some ears.”

Tokyo Disney reminds Johnny of their _Regular_ promotions and celebrating Mickey Mouse’ 90th birthday. It seems like a lifetime ago, but most of them still have souvenirs from that time period. Hell, he’d just watched Taeyong pack his Mickey Mouse plushie into a box a month ago. 

Mark flits around the store, ogling so many little trinkets that Johnny says, “We can stop here on our way out so you can buy stuff for everyone. Just look for some ears first.”

“I don’t even know what to look at,” Mark admits, pulling a headband off a rack and sticking it on his head. Johnny hates to admit that he looks pretty cute. “There’s just. So much. My eyes can’t stop moving.”

Johnny wanders through some of the displays. Mark’s right. There’s so much stuff in this one shop, he’s not quite sure what to devote his attention to. He keeps getting distracted by all things Mickey Mouse and a frightening amount of princess gear.

“Here.” A hat lands on the top of his head, Mark scooting past him to look in a mirror that’s propped on the top of a display. He’s got on a black baseball cap that has a pair of ears affixed to it. Tasteful but still classic. Johnny’s relieved to see the same hat on his own head when he ducks to see himself in the mirror. 

“Not bad, Mark Lee,” Johnny says, tilting his head to the side. 

“Yah, I’d say these are pretty damn good,” Mark replies. He tugs out his phone and holds it up. “Selfie?”

They haven’t taken a selfie together for non-work purposes in -- two years. Even when their managers asked them to, the requests were few and far between. Johnny’s almost afraid he’ll do something stupid like forget how to smile in Mark’s presence, but the picture turns out well. It probably helps that Mark’s excitement seems to radiate from the picture.

“What are you going to do with it?” Johnny asks, plucking the hat from Mark’s head and heading towards the counter to pay. Mark scrambles after him, thumbs skidding across his phone screen. 

“Sending it to my mum,” Mark replies. Johnny pauses.

“Really?” he asks. The attendant at the counter looks at him expectantly, and Johnny fumbles to hand her both hats.

“Yeah,” Mark replies. “I think she’d like that I’m at Disneyland with her favourite son.”

Johnny laughs. He remembers meeting Mrs. Lee for the first time, way back when Mark had only been living in Korea for a year or so. She’d thanked him profusely for looking after her baby, and had spent the seven years following that showering him with love and affection. Johnny hasn’t spoken to her in two years.

“Tell her I said hello,” Johnny says. He hands his credit card to the store attendant and tosses Mark his hat. 

The park is about as busy as could be expected on a hot summer’s day. Johnny’s a little overwhelmed by the number of people coupled with the size of the park; he’s used to crowds but he’s not really sure where to start. Luckily, Mark pulls him off in a direction -- seemingly chosen at random -- and solves the issue for him.

“I want to go on a ride,” Mark announces, dragging them into an area that reminds Johnny of a jungle. 

“You don’t even like rides,” Johnny points out.

“Yeah, but these rides are all designed for, like, six-year-olds. I think I can handle that.”

Johnny can’t help but snicker. “If you say so,” he says, which earns him a whack on the arm for his troubles.

Mark’s right, though. Most of the rides are fairly tame compared to some of the other rollercoasters they’ve been on in both Korea and Japan. They go on a jungle cruise and through Indiana Jones’ temple of doom, and on a train attraction that seems to be the closest thing to a roller coaster they’re going to get. Mark still clings hilariously to the handlebar, yelling through the entire ride while Johnny laughs beside him.

“Not funny, dude,” Mark mutters when they stumble off the ride. 

“A little funny,” Johnny says, but he nudges Mark softly in the ribs. He’d never take Mark on a ride that would make him actually uncomfortable, but he’d figured mostly the same thing as Mark did when they got into the park: it’s mostly designed for children, so the scariest of the rides is probably --

“We should go on this one,” Johnny says, grabbing Mark’s elbow so he’ll stop walking. Mark squints at the sign and then shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, absolutely not.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Johnny replies, dragging Mark towards the entrance to the ride. “It’s not really a trip to Disneyland if we don’t go on Splash Mountain!”

The line for the attraction is reasonably long, which probably does nothing to help ease Mark’s nerves. He goes from bouncing on the balls of his feet to rocking back and forth by the time they get to the front of the line. When the boat pulls up for them, Johnny is mildly relieved to see that they can sit two across. 

“We can still back out if you want,” Johnny says, sliding into the seat. “It’s probably not too late.”

Mark bites his lip, but he climbs gingerly into the boat. “No,” he says as the attendant secures the safety bar in place. “You’re right. This is, like, the most iconic ride here. I have to do it.”

“Well, _now_ it’s a little late to back out,” Johnny says, which just earns him a pinch to the elbow. Mark’s hand lingers, though, and after a moment, Johnny shifts his arm so that Mark can hook their arms together and slide closer to Johnny. 

Even though he knows its intimacy that’s born out of fear, Johnny can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. It’s been so long since he and Mark held each other in any way, and it just sort of hits him. Right there in a log boat that begins floating down an artificial river so it can drop off the edge of a simulated cliff for their amusement. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he and Mark sit together with linked arms. He doesn’t want this bubble of happiness to burst. Things can’t go back to how they were, but they can move forward. Johnny can let it.

He’s so busy with his revelation that he misses the first drop. It’s small, but the bottom of his stomach falls out and he shouts, way louder than anyone else in their boat, including Mark. They don’t get too wet at the bottom, but Mark still laughs when the water sloshes up the front of the boat and drips onto their shoes.

“You were pretty scared, huh?” he asks, squeezing Johnny’s arm.

“I got distracted,” Johnny admits and tries not to roll his eyes when Mark mutters, “Sure thing, dude.”

The second drop is in the dark, and Johnny isn’t prepared for that one either. Luckily, neither is the rest of the boat, judging by the volume of their screams. It echoes off the walls of the ride as they plunge through the darkness of the interior of the mountain. This time, when they land, a torrent of water rushes over the front of the boat, drenching Johnny and Mark from head to toe. 

“Oh my god,” he says once the boat has settled into the gentle rocking of a false sense of security. “That was awful.”

“I think I’m going to die,” Mark admits. “Or throw up.”

“Please do so over the side of the boat and not on my shoes,” Johnny says, but he pats Mark’s thigh reassuringly. “There’s just one more, I think.”

They get their picture taken on the last drop, and they stare at it on the preview screen with mildly horrified expressions when they get off the ride.

“I look like I’m trying to climb inside you,” Mark says in wonder, pointing at the way he’s clinging to Johnny’s arm in the photo. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

Johnny’s face is doing something truly astounding, somehow caught between delight and horror. It really is an awful picture, but he finds himself reaching for his wallet anyway. 

“Wait, hyung, no,” Mark whines as Johnny steps up to the photo counter. “Why would you want a picture like that?”

“It’s kind of nice,” Johnny says before carefully rattling off the number of the photo in Japanese to the attendant. She pulls it up on the screen for him to confirm and then accepts his credit card when he hands it over. “Nice reminder of our trip.”

By the time he’s got the picture and his card back, Mark’s schooled his face into an unimpressed frown. “It’s the ugliest photo I’ve ever seen of us.”

“Yeah, but at least we can actually see you this time,” Johnny points out. “Every other photo we have of you on a rollercoaster you’re always bent over, hiding.”

“Yeah, because those were scary,” Mark complains. He tugs the photo from Johnny’s hand and stares at it critically.

“And this wasn’t?” Johnny asks, peeking over Mark’s shoulder.

“This one was, too,” Mark concedes after a moment. “But I had you with me. Thanks, hyung.”

It’s genuine, and somehow, Johnny thinks Mark is talking about more than just being someone to hold onto for a trip on Splash Mountain. Maybe Mark can tell that Johnny’s finally putting in a little effort, too. Whatever the reason, it makes something small and warm bloom in Johnny’s chest.

“Yeah, no problem, bud,” he says, slinging an arm over Mark’s shoulders. “C’mon. There’s still the whole rest of the park to see.”

By the time Johnny gets them into a taxi that night, he feels exhausted. They’d spent the entire day at the park, going on rides and taking pictures with characters and eating. So much eating. Mark had even managed to remember to film them some, so they have plenty of footage to send back to the company. Johnny thinks the fans will like the first leg of their trip.

Mark passes out two minutes into their drive, head tipped against the window and bumping against it every time they roll over uneven pavement. The ears on his hat flap cutely with the movement. Johnny watches for a while, lulled by the rhythm, before he realizes what he’s doing and looks away. It reminds him a lot of late nights after recording sessions, Mark passing out mid-conversation while Johnny was still brimming with energy. It’s a wonder the company didn’t burn Mark out.

_Maybe they did,_ his brain supplies. Johnny can’t remember the last time Mark took a break from promotions. Maybe back in 2020, when they all had to stay at home. Right before things between them really blew up. Before that he’d been flying between groups and units like it was going out of style, and since then, it’s been similar. Mark’s had so many projects Johnny wonders if he can keep them all straight in his mind.

It shouldn’t matter to Johnny, though. He’s not Mark’s keeper, and Mark’s an adult with a fully established career. It’s not like how it was when they debuted, when turning down projects could mean being put on the backburner, when an injury could take you out of the game for months or for forever. The proof is this trip they’re on, the one Mark managed to weasel out of the corporate big wigs in their company. 

Johnny doesn’t have to take care of Mark, and Mark doesn’t need taking care of, but it still makes something ache inside him. So much has changed in two years, and just because they’re not at each other's throats all the time now doesn’t erase the fact that Johnny doesn’t know Mark. He catches glimpses of the person Mark used to be: still doesn’t like seafood, still afraid of heights, still scared of rollercoasters. It makes Johnny wonder what else is the same and what might have changed. Two years is a long time to forget someone. 

Mark mumbles something, breath fogging up the glass of the window. Outside, Tokyo passes by in a blur. Tomorrow, they get on a plane for Sydney, somewhere they’ve never been before. It feels -- poetic, to be traveling somewhere new with whatever is blooming between him and Mark again. A rebirth of sorts. Johnny can even say he’s looking forward to it.

He closes his eyes and lets the rocking of the taxi lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from lorde's "the louvre"


	3. what is, what isn't

Sydney is a welcome reprieve from Tokyo.

“I can’t believe it’s winter here,” Mark exclaims. “I have to wear pants here.”

“You don’t _have_ to wear pants,” Johnny says, then realizes a moment later how weirdly suggestive that sounds. Mark does too, judging from the scandalized look he shoots Johnny.

“I know you enjoyed the view, Johnny,” he drawls, leaning against the wall of their hotel room, “but I don’t think I want the fine people of Australia to see me walking around in my underwear.”

Johnny’s certain that his face must turn a brilliant shade of red, but the concern for his looks is overtaken by the roiling of his stomach. He doesn’t know how Mark can bring it up so casually when it was pretty much the very reason why they ended up the way they are. It stings more than any barbed comment Mark’s aimed at him over the years.

“I think I need to go shopping for a jacket,” Mark announces, but there’s a softness to his voice, like he understands the turmoil in Johnny’s heart. It’s not an apology, but it’s the closest thing Johnny’s going to get.

“It’s still, like 20 degrees outside,” Johnny points out. “You don’t need a jacket. Besides, then you’ll just have to pack it for the rest of the trip. Nowhere else is going to be as cool as this.”

“But hyung, what if I get cold,” Mark whines, and just like that the mood is easy again. Johnny shouldn’t be so surprised, though. Mark’s always been good at soothing Johnny’s concerns, except when they’re about Mark. 

“Toughen up, buttercup,” Johnny replies. He grabs his camera from the bedside table and nudges Mark towards the door. “Come on. Let’s go out and explore a bit. We’ve only got four days after this and I want to see as much of the city as I can.”

“Anything for you, hyung,” Mark says. It’s so cheery that Johnny can barely detect the lie in it.

Once upon a time, Johnny had thought about bringing Mark to Sydney on a trip. Just the two of them. Something like this, actually. They’d do all the touristy things, maybe make a video or two just for the fun of it. Relax. Johnny had thought about it so much that he’d even bookmarked a couple hotels on his phone to look at. They pass one on their way to the harbour.

In hindsight, it was foolish of Johnny to get so ahead of himself when it came to them. To him and Mark. But he’d been blinded by the ease of what they had: sloppy makeouts turned into tentative exploration in the dark. Learning each other turned into awkward conversations hidden in the dorm bathrooms, the only rooms in the house that had locks on the doors and running water to cover up what they were saying. Nervous confessions became christening Johnny’s bed in his apartment the day he gained possession. Johnny can still picture the way Mark had been sprawled across the bed, his clothing discarded and a cross between anxiety and adoration dancing in his eyes.

The next logical step would have been something official, a label, but that’s where Mark had put his foot down. Sometimes, Johnny still dreams about that night.

It’s hard to focus on the past, though, when the water comes into view. It’s a deep blue, muddied by the boat traffic dawdling in the harbour, and the briny smell of the ocean is overpowering. 

“Wow,” Mark says, leaning against the railing they’ve come to stop at, the sidewalk perched high above the water. “This is -- wow.”

The harbour itself is huge, to the point where the ocean looks like just a speck on the horizon. Across from them is the bridge and the opera house. Boats zig zag across the water in between, their passengers like tiny ants milling about the decks. Johnny snaps a picture with his phone and then sets up his film camera.

“I should vlog this,” he hears Mark mutter. Johnny half expects to find the camera in his face, but Mark is aiming it out across the water. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

It should be an exaggeration. They’ve seen a lot of cool things over the years, from famous landmarks to famous people, yet, Johnny can’t detect anything but honesty in Mark’s voice. And, he has to admit, the harbour is pretty awesome.

“We should go see that,” Mark says, pointing across the water at the opera house. “I mean, that’s like, the big thing here, right? Visit the opera house?”

“Sure,” Johnny says easily. He had wanted to go too. “What else do you want to do?”

“Learn to surf,” Mark replies immediately, which makes Johnny smile. He figured Mark would want to try that. It had always been something he’d wanted to do, and Johnny might still have some surf lessons bookmarked in his web browser, too. He doesn’t let himself dwell on it.

“You should find some things for us to do, too, hyung,” Mark says. It strikes Johnny then how Mark’s been wording everything: we. We should do this, we should try this. We. You and me, he’s saying. 

Honestly, it’s hard to believe that they were still fighting so much just a few days ago. Johnny hates to admit that falling back into old habits with Mark has been easier than he wants it to be. If they were so different now, why is it so easy to fit together like they used to? It makes Johnny want to tear his hair out.

“Hyung,” Mark calls, and when Johnny’s mind logs back on again he sees that Mark is halfway down the sidewalk already, grinning at him. “Let’s go find something to eat.”

Unlike Japan, there isn’t an entire food culture that’s vastly different from what Johnny grew up eating in Chicago. There’s a weird mix of restaurants along the block they stumble upon, but they end up buying some meat pies from a street vendor because he promised it was authentic Australian food.

“Dang, this is pretty good,” Mark says around a mouthful of pie. The vendor throws him a thumbs up and Mark giggles. “Do you think we can find these back in Korea, hyung?”

Johnny shrugs. They are pretty good. “Maybe you can ask our auntie if she could make them.”

“Ooh, good idea,” Mark replies. “Auntie can make anything, I swear.”

“Maybe you should buy her a souvenir too,” Johnny says. He means it as a bit of a joke, but Mark’s eyes widen as he shoves the rest of his pie into his mouth.

“Oh my gosh, you’re so right,” he says. He grabs Johnny’s arm and begins dragging him down the street. Johnny has a split second to eat the rest of his own pie before he drops it. “I should buy her, like, a thousand fridge magnets or something.”

“Or you could buy her something that doesn’t remind her of her job.”

Mark laughs. “Okay, a thousand fridge magnets and a koala plushie.”

“How are you planning on getting all this stuff back to Korea?” Johnny asks as they step into the first tourist shop they see. “At this rate we’re going to have to buy a third suitcase just for all the junk we’ve bought for everyone else.”

“I mean, I’m unloading a bunch of it in Chicago, so that’ll clear up some space,” Mark comments idly, spinning a display of fridge magnets. “So as long as I can get everything there, I’m set.”

Johnny just stares. “What do you mean you’re unloading a bunch of stuff in Chicago?” he asks, stepping over to pluck a magnet off the display. It’s shaped like the opera house.

“I mean I have a lot of gifts for your parents,” Mark replies. He pulls another magnet with a picture of the entire harbour on it from the display.

“Why?”

Mark shoots him a skeptical look. “Uh, because I like your parents and I want to be nice to them? I am, surprisingly, good at being nice to people, Johnny, in case you forgot.”

And, well, Johnny sort of did. He’s fully aware that Mark has been acting nicer to him since they came to a tentative truce in Tokyo, but it had still surprised him when Ten had mentioned that Mark was only an asshole when Johnny was around. Somehow, it surprises Johnny that Mark would be thoughtful enough to buy gifts for his parents, that he could still resemble the boy he was underneath all the hurt and anger and resentment. 

His silence must be telling, because Mark’s face shutters until it’s an impassive mask. “Guess you did forget,” he mutters before disappearing further back into the store.

“Shit,” Johnny mutters. He can practically hear Ten’s reprimanding voice in his head. “Mark, wait up.”

He finds Mark standing next to a display with plushies on it. He’s in the middle of squeezing two different koalas in his arms, frowning as he does so. Johnny can’t tell if it’s because of what he said or if the koalas just aren’t up to snuff.

“Hey,” he says, feeling awkward, which is dumb. Johnny has never once felt awkward in front of Mark before. Not even -- Johnny shakes that thought from his head immediately. “Sorry about -- that.”

Mark laughs, but it’s hollow sounding. It surprises Johnny how quickly Mark can flip the switch on his personality, but he figures it shouldn’t. Besides the fact that he’d spent two years seemingly angry at Johnny, Mark’s gotten better at putting on a persona for the cameras. Johnny just hates being on the receiving end of it now that he’s gotten some semblance of the real Mark back.

“This is where I step up and admit that it was partly my fault too, right?” he asks, putting the koalas back and reaching for two different ones. He frowns at them as well. “Where I’m supposed to say, ‘I wasn’t very nice to you, Johnny, so I guess it’s okay that you did forget I could be a perfectly kind human being.’”

“Mark - “ Johnny starts. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation here. When they fought in Japan at least they had the guise of speaking English in a place where people weren’t fluent in it. Maybe they should talk in Korean instead, though he figures Mark wouldn’t take kindly to that idea.

“It’s -- whatever,” Mark says, taking a deep breath. “I know things won’t fix themselves overnight, but we were doing well and I guess I just. Wanted something I couldn’t have yet.”

There’s a dull throb of annoyance sitting at the base of Johnny’s skull. A week ago, it would’ve been full blown anger. “You can’t play the victim card every time,” he says, hating how defeated his voice sounds. “I’m not a sucker. Not like before.”

This at least makes Mark look up at him, eyes wide. “I never said you were a sucker,” he says. “Not now and not then, either.”

Johnny shrugs. “But I was, wasn’t I?” he asks, rocking on his feet. “Totally enamoured by anything you’d give me with no regard for what was actually there, right?”

Mark’s mouth pinches. “I don’t -- “

“ -- want to talk about this now?” Johnny finishes, cutting off whatever Mark wanted to say. If it was something different, Johnny doesn’t care. “Good, neither do I. Did you find the souvenirs you were looking for?”

Mark puts the koala plushies back on the stand. “I’ll just get the magnets for now,” he mumbles, shuffling past Johnny to the counter. “I didn’t like any of those koalas. I’ll have to find one somewhere else.”

Johnny doesn’t miss it, the change in pronoun. We to I. From going together to doing things alone. Johnny scrubs a hand over his face. Things can’t be perfect all the time, he reasons. They’re still feeling each other out. Still, he hates the pinched look on Mark’s face, the way he seems to almost cave in on himself.

“Come on,” Johnny says once Mark’s tucked the magnets into his pocket. “I think I saw an ice cream parlour around the corner. I’ll buy you a scoop.”

It’s an apology without words, and Johnny watches Mark process it all, mouth twisting a little at the corners. Johnny can’t tell if he wants to say more, but Mark doesn’t. He just nods his head and trails after Johnny back out onto the street. After a moment, his shoulders push back and he straightens up. It’s almost like nothing happened between them, but Johnny can feel the barrier, the wall that Mark’s put back up. It’s like taking one step forward and two steps back, which would’ve annoyed Johnny before. But they’ve still got three weeks ahead of them, and Johnny understands the game better now. It’s not about the battles, but about the war, and Johnny’s determined to win.

Things seem to be smoothed over by the time the next day rolls around. Mark seems as chipper as ever, excited to drag Johnny out of their hotel room and down to the taxi stand at the front of their hotel. They’d decided on going to the opera house today. Johnny’s not sure if Mark is super jazzed about opera, or just the opportunity to go explore a city they’ve never been to before. He’d naturally pick the second option, but he remembers how surprised he’d been by Mark’s interest in the exhibits at the Tokyo National Museum. Maybe he’ll be proven wrong again.

“Sydney is really cool,” Mark says to the vlog camera once they’re on their way. Johnny can see the bemused smile on the driver’s face through the rearview mirror. “I can’t believe we’ve never been here before.”

“Do you guys travel a lot?” the driver asks. Mark blinks, like he’d just remembered someone else was in the car with them.

“A little,” Johnny replies. “Mostly in Asia. Sometimes North America.”

“That’s cool,” the driver replies. “My wife and I have been wanting to go to Japan for a while. We just never seem to get around to it.”

“We were just there!” Mark exclaims, and begins to eagerly explain to their driver all the things they’d done.”

“You should go to Tokyo Disney,” Mark concludes, shooting Johnny a secret look across the backseat. “I had the best time there.”

The driver laughs. “You don’t think we’re too old?” he asks, pulling up to the drop off point. 

“Nah,” Mark replies. He goes to reach for his wallet but Johnny’s already handing the man his credit card. Mark shoots him a pleased look. “It’s kind of an all-ages sort of thing. And don’t forget to go on Splash Mountain. That’s the best.”

“Sounds good,” the driver says, handing his card back to Johnny. “You boys enjoy your trip here in Sydney.”

“Enjoy your trip to Japan,” Mark replies with a grin before bouncing his way out of the backseat. Johnny thanks the driver and follows Mark out.

The opera house is truly a sight to behold. Johnny had no idea it was so big. The structure looms above them from the top of a set of wide concrete stairs. Tourists are congregated on the steps, and though there’s not many of them now during the winter, there're still plenty of people finding their own little patch on the steps for a picture.

“I want one too,” Mark says, appearing at Johnny’s elbow, startling him. “Come on, we’ve got about a billion different cameras to use.”

It’s not quite a billion, but they film a little for the vlog and then Johnny takes a few pictures on his phone for Instagram. And then he wants a couple on his film camera. And then Mark whips out the company Polaroid from his backpack and they have to take more photos. Johnny’s certain other people are beginning to look at them because of how many cameras they keep procuring out of their bags.

“Are you sending those to the company?” Johnny asks, nodding at the selfies that are developing on the Polaroids in Mark’s hand.

“Uh, no,” Mark replies. “Why would I?”

Johnny shrugs. “That’s their camera, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Sure,” Mark says. He stuffs the camera back in his bag and carefully tucks the photos into his wallet. “But they don’t know I took it so. I think I’ll just hold onto the photos too.” He starts up the stairs before Johnny can say anything else.

Johnny just shakes his head. Trust Mark Lee to still be making trouble for their company even a continent away.

“Can we go on a tour?” Mark asks, pointing to the sign at the top of the stairs. Johnny checks his watch. They have about 15 minutes before the next tour is supposed to start. He blinks at the price. 

“I mean, sure,” he says. “Go right ahead.”

“Johnny,” Mark whines. Johnny has to bite back his grin. He knows what Mark had meant. 

“Do you think I’m made of money?” he asks. “I paid for the cab.”

“Yeah, but … “ Mark trails off. It’s maybe the first time in the past two years that he hasn’t had a quick and easy remark to any of Johnny’s comments. 

The price isn’t really an issue. Or, well, it is truly expensive for what it is, but Johnny doesn’t mind too much. He wants to go, but he likes watching Mark squirm like this. Some part of him that still holds onto the anger particularly delights in it.

“If you can tell me five facts about the opera house by the end of the tour, I’ll pay for it,” Johnny says, stepping into Mark’s space. To Mark’s credit, he doesn’t back away. “If you can’t, you can pay me back.”

Mark hums, quirking an eyebrow at Johnny. “Bribing me with education,” he says. “What more could a guy ask for? I accept your challenge, Johnny Suh.”

“Cool,” Johnny says. He sticks his hand out and Mark grabs it, but before Johnny can shake, Mark pulls him in impossibly close, rocks up on his toes, and presses a chaste kiss to Johnny’s mouth. He’s already bouncing up to the ticket counter before Johnny can fully respond.

They haven’t kissed in two years, and even though this was more of a press of their mouths than anything else, it still leaves Johnny reeling. It brings back in full force the fact that Johnny had once thought of this trip for _them_. That Sydney was supposed to be theirs and now they don’t have the relationship or the opportunity anymore. It hurts so much Johnny almost sits down on the steps again.

But Mark is standing ahead of him, chatting up the tour attendant and gesturing back towards Johnny. He wonders what’s being said: is Mark telling her that they’re brothers? Friends? Lovers? Does it even matter to Johnny? It shouldn’t, after all this time. None of it should matter, and yet. Johnny finds he cares very much. He wants to know where he stands with Mark, which makes him feel a little pitiful. 

He wants to run away. He desperately wants to call Ten, but Ten had told him he wouldn’t be his life coach. He wishes he could talk to Taeyong, but he’s still doing his mandatory training. There are a lot of things Johnny wants to do in this instance, but he can’t do any of them. Or. He won’t. He can choose not to.

Slowly, one foot in front of the other, he steps forward until he’s standing at the ticket counter. He hands over his credit card robotically; he can hardly hear what Mark is saying as the attendant laughs and hands Johnny his card and two lanyards with tour passes on them.

“Enjoy the tour,” she says in a pleasant, lilting accent.

“Thanks,” Mark says, tugging Johnny towards where more people with lanyards have started to gather. “Nice to meet you.”

Johnny just lets himself be pulled along.

Mark had not been Johnny’s first, but Johnny is very aware of the fact that he was Mark’s first for everything. It had felt like a burden, when Mark had first asked Johnny to kiss him when he was 16 and young but desperate to have these seemingly regular milestones checked off on his mental list. Later it had felt exhilarating, to be handed so much trust. From there it had sparked something in Johnny that leaves him feeling embarrassed now: longing. 

It reminds him of the questions Mark had asked him outside the boardroom, more than a month ago now: _do you want to go on vacation? Do you want to have a girlfriend? Be a shitty person?_ Johnny doesn’t want the girlfriend, necessarily, but he wishes he and Mark could have made things work. He wishes that this vacation to Sydney was the one he had dreamt of all those years ago, and not the company initiative it’s become.

The inside of the opera house is just as stunning as the outside. Johnny can barely stand to pay attention as their tour guide leads them through the vaulted halls, pointing out renovations and design intricacies that Johnny would normally be very interested in. Mark, for his part, looks thoroughly enraptured, though Johnny has no doubt that it’s because of the deal they made and not because he’s genuinely that interested in the design principles of the building.

_Pull it together,_ Johnny thinks bitterly as they’re taken into the auditorium where the performances are held. _Stop feeling so sorry for yourself._ He doesn’t want to spend all of Sydney wrapped up in what could have been. One small kiss from Mark Lee was not going to ruin his vacation. The thought makes Johnny sit up taller, push his shoulders back. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mark glancing at him with an eyebrow raised.

By the end of the tour, Johnny feels like he at least got his money’s worth out of it. He’d managed to tune back in for the second half and had thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the tour. Even Mark looks happy as they step back out into the winter sun.

“That was pretty cool,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. He turns to Johnny with a wide grin. “What did you think, hyung?”

“It was great,” Johnny replies. He eyes Mark critically. “Now, come on. What did you learn?”

Mark laughs. “Straight to the point, eh?”

“I’m giving you the best opportunity,” Johnny replies. “All the info is probably fresh in your head.”

Johnny’s not really sure what to expect with Mark. He’s not as challenge-driven as Jaehyun, but he’s never liked losing to Johnny. Johnny just isn’t sure whether Mark actually retained anything on the tour, but dutifully, Mark regurgitates five facts about the opera house.

“The architect’s name is Jorn Utzon. It was supposed to only cost seven million dollars to build. The Queen of England opened the house. It’s a World Heritage site. There’s a seal named Benny who lives on the north steps.”

Johnny bobs his head, then pauses. “Wait, there’s a seal?” he asks. 

Mark’s brow furrows. “Hyung, c’mon,” he whines. “That was the most important thing she said all tour. She said it at the very end.”

Johnny’s not exactly sure where his brain was at the time, but he certainly doesn’t remember anyone mentioning a seal. “Is it here?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says. “Why don’t we go check?”

There are a few people standing on the north steps when they finally make their way around the edge of the building. One of the tourists holds a finger to her lips and says quietly, “There’s a seal down there.” Mark grins in delight and pulls out the vlog camera.

It’s hard to see the seal, really. He’s quite far down from where they are -- Johnny is reminded of all the stairs they climbed up to get to the plateau -- and he mostly just looks like a big black lump. But he zooms in on his camera, adjusts the contrast, and snaps a couple pictures to send to their group chat. 

“Who do you think will be the most jealous that we’re looking at a seal right now?” Johnny asks, watching Mark fiddle with the camera settings so he can zoom in on the seal better. After a moment, Johnny reaches across and does it for him. He shivers when their arms brush.

“Definitely Donghyuck,” Mark replies. “He tries to act all cool but I know he’d like something like this.”

“Yeah, probably,” Johnny says, then adds, “We should probably buy him a seal from the gift shop, shouldn’t we?”

“Hell yeah,” Mark replies happily.

They wander back around the opera house and into the gift shop. Mark goes through the same process of picking up various seal stuffed animals and hugging them, like this is the most efficient way to evaluate plushies. Johnny rolls his eyes. 

“Are we going to do this every time we look at stuffed animals?” he asks.

“Well, yeah,” Mark replies. “How else am I supposed to tell if it’s the right one?”

“I wasn’t aware there was a right one,” Johnny replies, which Mark just returns with a look of incredulousness.

“Johnny,” he says seriously. “You had, like, 60 plushies on your bed when we were all living in the dorms. Do you know how creepy -- “

“Okay,” Johnny says, cutting Mark off there. He knows exactly what Mark was going to say: _Do you know how creepy it was to have sex with all of them watching me?_ It was a conversation they’d had a few times, one that eventually led them to just using Mark’s room whenever they hooked up.

Mark just snickers, putting one of his seals back on the shelf. “I pick this one.” He pushes past Johnny to the counter to pay, leaving Johnny feeling slightly flustered and rushing to catch up.

Once they’re back down at the bottom of the steps, Johnny pauses and tugs on Mark’s arm to get his attention. Mark looks at him, sun shining off his dark black hair and reflecting off his glasses. “What?” he asks.

“Can we sit down a moment?” Johnny asks, motioning to the steps behind them.

“Tired already?” Mark asks, but it’s more of a joke than anything with bite, like how it would’ve been a week and a half ago. “You’re getting old, Johnny.”

Johnny just shrugs. A nameless emotion flickers across Mark’s face before he sits too.

“Why did you kiss me earlier?” Johnny asks.

Mark sits down. It’s graceful in a way that’s been learned and honed from hours and hours of dance practice. Johnny’s always been envious of Mark’s dance skills; he doesn’t have any of the natural grace and ease as Ten or Taemin or Jongin, but it’s something Mark worked at. Johnny’s tried his best too, but he knows while he can look smooth, he’s never learned how to marry sharp and calculated with smooth and groovy the way Mark has.

“I didn’t really think about it,” Mark admits. He won’t look at Johnny. “It just felt -- natural. Like I was supposed to.”

Johnny laughs. He hates how hollow it sounds, wishes it were meaner sounding, like the sharp barbs of the tones will help protect his fragile heart. “Like a gut instinct?”

“Like muscle memory,” Mark replies dully. He swivels his head to look at Johnny, eyes lifeless and tired looking. “I guess I got caught up in all of this.” He waves his hand vaguely at the city in front of them.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Johnny says. 

Mark sighs and leans back on the step behind him. “You’re really going to make me say it, huh?” he asks, but more to himself than to Johnny. He closes his eyes. Johnny counts to 10 before Mark speaks again, just like he knew he would. “I liked pretending that things weren’t so bad between us. Yeah, we’re civil most of the time now, but it feels like we’re in a powder keg ready to go off. The suspense eats me up sometimes, so I guess it was nice to just. Fall into old habits.”

The confession has Johnny reeling a little. Mark had always presented himself as well-adjusted, as someone who had moved on. Johnny had clearly been the one stuck in the past between the two of them. He isn’t sure if it’s reassuring or heartbreaking that Mark is apparently spending just as much time thinking about the what-ifs as Johnny has been.

“That’s not really fair, Mark,” Johnny says after a moment. “You can’t just -- do things like that.”

Mark laughs. “What’s a little kiss between friends, hmm?” he asks. 

That’s the point, isn’t it, Johnny thinks. He’s supposed to be past it, over it. He can be heartbroken, but he’s not supposed to still be in love. A kiss isn’t supposed to set him back emotionally because it’s supposed to mean anything. Johnny’s kissed all the members, but Mark’s the only one where it ever meant something.

“Are we even friends?” he asks, but it’s joking and Mark can tell. He shoots Johnny a grin and gets to his feet.

“I won’t do it again, if you don’t want,” he says. “I’m sorry I caught you off guard, but I do want us to be -- somewhat normal again. I want it to stop feeling like the other shoe is going to drop.”

_It means letting go,_ Johnny’s brain tells him. _It means letting go of all your anger._

Johnny sighs and gets to his feet. He turns so he can face the tall sails of the opera house’s roof. They shouldn’t be standing, but they are. Jorn Utzon made sure of it. Maybe that’s how Johnny feels too, like he shouldn’t be back on his feet yet, but he is. He weathered the storm and there’s smooth sailing ahead, but only if he wants it.

Johnny turns to face Mark, takes in the nervous fidgeting of his fingers along the loop of the bag that holds Donghyuck’s souvenir. Perfectly calm and collected Mark Lee with a crack down the middle of his facade. He let Johnny in, maybe Johnny can do the same.

“Sure,” Johnny says. He holds out his hand and this time, Mark just shakes it. “I want that too.”

Mark grins at him. “Perfect,” he says.

Of course, things aren’t _perfect_. They still haven’t really talked about anything, but instead have placed a huge band aid over the wound and hoped it will stop the bleeding. Still, Johnny can’t help but feel mildly relieved to be at least on the same page as Mark. It’s better than being in the dark.

They head out to Bondi Beach the next day with the promise of surf lessons and a day of lounging around. Much to Johnny’s surprise, Mark had planned the whole thing. He’d spent 15 minutes with the concierge at their hotel the night before and had come back with two confirmations for lessons and an armful of beach gear. 

“Are you planning on moving to the beach?” Johnny had asked, eyeing the cooler Mark was holding. It was stuffed with beach towels and some collapsible half tent thing that was meant to provide shade and enough equipment to build a sand fortress, let alone a castle.

“Well, you’ve always wanted a vacation home,” Mark had said with a wry grin.

The taxi drops them off at the entrance to the beach and the lug their gear towards the sand. The cooler is significantly heavier now, weighed down by drinks and snacks, but Johnny doesn’t mind. It feels nice to be able to do some lifting, even if it’s just something as mundane as carrying a container of food.

Mark, on the other hand, looks pained. 

“You need to work out more,” Johnny says, trying to match his pace to Mark’s unsteady steps. The sand isn’t helping. 

“Yeah, okay, Captain America,” Mark grunts. “Sorry I haven’t kept up with bulking.”

“Kept up? You never started in the first place,” Johnny says with a laugh. Mark just shoots him a glare.

He’d tried to get Mark to work out with him before. In some ways it was satisfying, finding this one thing that Johnny excelled at that Mark struggled with. Johnny has always felt like he’s lacking in the face of Mark Lee, except when lifting weights.

“Yeah and this cooler isn’t really making me want to start,” Mark replies. They finally arrive at the building for the surf school and Mark drops his end of the cooler into the sand with a _thud_. Johnny hopes the sodas they packed aren’t too shaken up. “This sucked. I can’t imagine lifting things like this _for fun_.”

“If you lifted more, this wouldn’t have been an issue and you wouldn’t be complaining so much,” Johnny points out. He flexes his bicep just to make Mark roll his eyes.

“We’re going to talk ourselves into circles,” he says, nudging Johnny towards the door of the school. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Sure,” Johnny says. “But I’m still going to get you into the gym when we get back.”

Mark’s mouth purses, but he doesn’t say anything. It takes Johnny a moment to realize it’s probably because they haven’t talked about _after_ yet. They’ve mostly just been taking things one day at a time; to mention going back, to being in Korea again, implies the end of the freedom they’ve been allotted, and Johnny suspects Mark is loath to give it up.

They check in at the front desk at the school and are led into a back room where they’re given wet suits and sized for a surfboard. Johnny’s surprised by how long the boards are, but the technician tells him it’s easier to learn on.

“Once you get real good you can switch to a short board,” he says, accent heavy on his tongue as he pulls a board off the rack for Johnny. “Then you can do the cool tricks and whatnot. Today, you’ll probably just be wanting to stand up.”

“It’s how I feel most days,” Mark mutters, which makes the technician laugh. He leads them out the back door to where their instructor is waiting for them.

“Have a good time, mates,” the technician says before disappearing inside.

Their teacher’s name is Alicia and she’s about a foot shorter than Johnny and twice as scary. She warns them about the dangers of the ocean with all the severity of a particularly protective mother bear before a sunny smile graces her face.

“And now that we’ve got all the required safety precautions out of the way, I can be happy and excited to teach you how to surf!”

Mark shoots Johnny a sideways glance. “We’re happy you’re happy,” he says. “I was afraid you were going to be, like, really strict or something.”

“Well, I’m strict about safety because the ocean is unpredictable,” Alicia says. “But I love surfing and I think other people should, too, so I get really excited to teach people.”

“Well, we’re excited to learn,” Johnny replies, which seems to make her smile even bigger, if that’s even possible.

They start on dry land, Alicia teaching them how to paddle and then the motions of getting up on the board. There’s a lot of information to take in, but Alicia is patient, even with the seemingly never-ending stream of Mark’s questions.

“You’re a talkative one, aren’t you?” she asks after Mark asks her his fifth question on where he should position his feet on the board. Mark turns a brilliant shade of red.

“He’s always been curious,” Johnny says before he can stop himself. Mark shoots him a betrayed look. “It’s part of his charm.”

Alicia laughs. “You guys are cute,” she says. “And, I think you’re ready for the water.”

She takes them out, but Johnny’s mind has wandered, stuck on her comment about him and Mark. He can’t tell if it’s supposed to mean anything, if she’s just saying it generally or if she means that they’re cute -- like a couple. A cute couple. It’s a weird thought, but one that clings to the edges of Johnny’s mind.

He’s never really grown up somewhere where the assumption of two men together wasn’t automatically just friends. Sure, Chicago was more progressive than Korea, but his sexuality had never really been something on his radar then. He’d dated a couple girls, experimented with one of them, and then moved to Korea and got sucked up in the idol production machine. After that, dating seemed out of the question, and dating men seemed like an even more far fetched idea. 

But what if they’d grown up here? Or Canada, or Chicago. Would people be like Alicia and barely bat an eye at them being together? Would Mark have had different opinions on what he had wanted, on what he was _allowed_ to want? 

Johnny shakes his head. The chill of the water, even through the wet suit, helps him focus on the present. There’s no point in dwelling on the what ifs, but Johnny can’t help it. Mark found his freedom from the company; maybe Johnny is finding his own kind of freedom too.

Alicia has them paddle around a bit in the water just to get them used to the motion. Johnny’s a little taken aback by how -- rocky everything is. The waves swell and recede under his board, leaving him bobbing up and down and teetering. Mark looks no better, continuing his stream of questions as he paddles frantically. Alicia just laughs at them.

Eventually, they get their bearings. Alicia teaches them how to turn around and how to prepare to catch a wave as it comes in. Then, she takes them out to where the waves are breaking. 

There are a few other surfers out, but not too many down at their end of the beach. Johnny figures the surf school must have a bit of say about how much room they can take up for their bumbling learners. Johnny’s grateful that there won’t be crowds of people watching him wipeout for the next 20 minutes.

“Hey, you ready?” Mark asks, bobbing up and down in the water next to him. He’s pushed his hair back off his forehead, and for the first time in a long time, he looks -- older. His age. He looks like an adult. Water catches on the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the jut of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Just in this single moment, Johnny can pick out every single reason why he fell for Mark Lee.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Johnny replies. It feels like he’s speaking about more than just the incoming waves. He feels like he’s talking about something bigger.

“Alrighty, boys, get ready,” Alicia calls, some 10 feet to their left. “Start to turn your boards.”

Mark and Johnny follow her instructions, situating themselves with their backs to the waves. Johnny peers over his shoulder, watching the wave come in, feeling it rock his surfboard. “Start paddling,” Alicia calls, sending the three of them into a frenzy of activity. 

Johnny wasn’t really expecting to succeed on the first try, but it’s still sort of shocking when he gets up on his board and is immediately knocked off balance by the wave. He’s pretty sure Mark didn’t make it up at all. When he resurfaces, clinging to the side of his surfboard, he can spot Alicia closer to shore, still standing. Mark is still bobbing on his surfboard.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he admits. “There’s so much unpredictability.”

“Such is life,” Johnny says, spitting some seawater back into the ocean. “Kind of like trainee days again, eh? It used to feel impossible to get the choreo down and then, _bam_ , one day you got it.

Mark looks at him, tilting his head to the side like a puppy. Cute, Johnny thinks fondly.

“I guess you’re right,” he says as Alicia pulls up beside them on her board. “Time to try again.”

“That’s the spirit,” Alicia says. “We’re going until I can get both of you guys standing.”

“I hope you’re patient,” Johnny replies, which just makes Alicia laugh.

“Wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t,” she says.

It takes Johnny a couple tries to understand the mechanics of the waves, as weird as it sounds. Each one is different, but it becomes easier to feel out when he should be paddling still and when he should try and stand up. Alicia advises him on shortening his stance, getting his feet closer together. It feels counter-intuitive, but when he finally manages to get to his feet on his fifth wave, he understands her point. It’s easier to control the board this way. With a whoop, Johnny lets the wave push him in towards the shore.

He can hear Mark and Alicia cheering for him as he drops in the shallow water. His heart is pounding from the adrenaline and his smile feels like it might split his face. 

It’s not like Johnny thought he wouldn’t be able to do it, but it still feels almost like a shock. Like after all the time spent on the sand and then all the failed attempts in the water could actually amount to success. It’s the same with anything he’s ever worked at: failure after failure until one day he wasn’t failing anymore, but this feels like -- more. More important somehow.

When Johnny turns around to face back out into the water, he can see Alicia and Mark bobbing where he left them. Even from here, he can hear Mark’s laugh ringing out over the waves. It’s gone high-pitched and giggly again, like he’s somehow managed to inject joy back into it. Johnny’s missed it.

He’s missed a lot about Mark, he realizes. When he was angry it felt like there was hardly room inside himself to feel anything else towards Mark, but now, out in the ocean under the pale winter sun, Johnny lets himself feel. 

He misses the way Mark would look at him with wide, adoring eyes. He misses the way Mark would lean into him when he laughed, hit Johnny in the arm when it became too much to hold in all the happiness. He misses the way Mark would come to him in the middle of the night with all his insecurities and fears and whisper them into the crook of Johnny’s neck, blind faith in something Mark considered unwavering and unshakeable. It’s the little things in their relationship that have faded that Johnny mourns now. 

Out in the water, Mark begins to paddle, the wave gaining on him. At the last moment, Mark pops up on his board, wavering only slightly before finding his balance. The wave pushes him in, and Mark cheers, elation written clear across his face. He’s too caught up in the celebration, though, because a moment later he’s flailing and falling into the water. Johnny laughs.

Mark pops up and clambers back onto his board, paddling back in towards Johnny. Out in the water, Alicia is patiently waiting for a wave.

“Hyung, did you see that?” Mark asks. “Did you see me?”

“Yeah, dude, you were awesome,” Johnny replies. “Nice wipeout.”

Mark grins and ducks his head. He cheers for Alicia as she comes in, like she needs the encouragement. Still, she looks pleased when she hops off her board in the shallows next to them.

“Good work, boys!” she exclaims, giving them both high fives. “You guys are quick learners.”

“It just takes some practice,” Mark replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “And of course, we had a great teacher.”

Alicia laughs before ushering them back out towards the waves. They still have time left in their lesson. 

Johnny doesn’t stay on his feet every wave he catches. He wipes out probably more often than he doesn’t, but now that he’s had a taste of what he can have, it keeps him itching to get back on his board. It feels like a sign. The cosmic sign that Ten had talked to him about in Tokyo.

He can have a friendship with Mark again. They can fix the hurt and resentment between them. Maybe it’s still too early to really sit down and talk about what happened, but they’re laying groundwork to get there. They’re falling off the surfboard, but they’re getting back up because they can see what waits for them at the end. 

It’s cheesy, but Johnny’s always been big on the silly things in life like that. The ridiculous metaphors. Sometimes it feels like the only way to make it through all the craziness that idol life has left them with.

But that life also feels far away now. They’re right in the middle of the trip and Johnny feels like for the first time in a long time he can just -- breathe. He can be himself. With Mark. 

Johnny angles his surfboard back towards shore. There’s a wave coming up behind him so he starts to paddle. He can hear Mark cheering for him, can feel the tremor of the ocean under his feet. With an exhale, Johnny pushes himself to his feet and rides the wave in towards shore.

They rent the boards for a little longer just so they can get some footage for the vlog before retrieving their cooler of goodies from the school and setting up on the beach. Johnny’s whole body hurts, muscles aching pleasantly and skin feeling tingly from where the water has battered him.

“I know it would have been a pain to lug an umbrella around, but this thing is ridiculous,” Mark exclaims once he’s set up the little half tent for them. 

“Reminds me of that time we set up that tent in noona’s apartment,” Johnny says. 

“That was a long time ago.”

“It was,” Johnny says carefully. He glances at Mark just to find him already looking back. “It’s a nice memory.”

A small, tentative smile blooms on Mark’s face. It’s a far cry from the cocky smiles Johnny’s received over the years, the smirks and the small quirks of his mouth. This is something new.

“It is,” Mark replies. He sets himself down on one of the beach towels and pulls a tube of sunscreen from one of their bags. Johnny gratefully accepts it when Mark hands it to him. 

They sit in silence for a moment, diligently working the cream into their skin. Johnny’s spent so long covering up any time they’ve been afforded time at the beach, it feels nice to lie around in just his swim trunks, even if it’s a little chilly out. It reminds him of when they used to go to the beach when he was a kid, not a care in the world for how tan he might get. Besides, now he actually has a body that he wants to show off.

“Hey,” Mark says, snapping Johnny out of his thoughts. “Can you do my back?”

It’s extremely cliched, but Johnny can’t help the way his face heats up. Mark’s not looking at him, so he can’t see the way Johnny hesitates just for a moment, the way he stops with his hands poised over the exposed skin of Mark’s back. “Yeah, sure,” he croaks before swiping a smear of sunscreen from Mark’s shoulder to his hip.

Mark shivers under the touch, though Johnny isn’t sure if it’s from the temperature of the sunscreen or Johnny himself. They sit in silence as Johnny works the sunscreen in, making sure Mark’s fully covered before reaching over his shoulder and dropping the tube in his lap. “My turn,” he says, trying to ignore how husky his voice has gotten.

He turns around before he can see Mark’s face, tries not to let his shoulders hunch too much in anticipation. The click of the cap sounds almost deafening despite the noise of the ocean, and for one brief moment it takes Johnny back to a different place. A bedroom, the lights turned low -

The first touch has Johnny jumping slightly, which makes Mark laugh. “Cold, huh?” he asks, before working the cream into Johnny’s shoulders. “Relax. It’s just me.”

“I should hope so,” Johnny replies. “Would hate to have a stranger rubbing sunscreen into my back.”

Mark’s laugh sounds like it’s been startled out of him, almost a bark. It sets Johnny off too until they’re giggling in the sand, Mark still spreading sunscreen on his back haphazardly. 

“You wouldn’t mind if it were Alicia, would you?” Mark asks once they’ve caught their breath and let the silence settle in between them. He’s rubbing a circle between Johnny’s shoulder blades, but Johnny’s pretty sure there’s no sunscreen to spread. Mark’s just looking for an excuse to not have this conversation face to face.

“I’m not interested in Alicia, Mark,” he says, digging his toes in the sand.

“I -- well -- I mean.” Mark blows out a frustrated breath; Johnny feels it across his shoulders. “You could be. And it would be okay. I mean, duh, it would be okay but I mean. _I_ would be okay with it.”

Johnny pauses from where he’s been trying to bury his feet in the sand. The fact that Mark would be okay with him talking to someone -- talking to a _woman_ \-- would imply that the opposite would be Mark _not_ being okay. The omission sits heavy in the pit of Johnny’s stomach.

“I’m not really looking for anything right now,” he says, which isn’t a lie.

“Oh, well, I mean. You don’t have to date. But. If you wanted to hook up - “ 

Johnny whirls around so fast Mark pretty much topples over. “Hyung,” he whines, propping himself up. “Now I have sand all over my back.”

“I’m not hooking up with someone while we’re on vacation,” he exclaims. He’s not sure what his face is doing, but the expression makes Mark laugh. “Mark, seriously. Why on earth do you think I’d do that?”

Mark shrugs. “We’re on vacation,” he echoes. “There’s no managers, no one watching our every move. I guess I’m just trying to be a good bro or whatever.”

There’s a faint tinge of pink on Mark’s cheeks. Slowly, the ridiculousness of the whole situation fades until Johnny’s left with just amusement sitting in his chest. He laughs and pushes Mark over into the sand again. 

“The thought is -- appreciated? But I’m not going to hook up with people just because SM is a billion miles away. I’m not looking for a one-night stand.”

Mark’s face shifts through a series of emotions. Johnny thinks he detects something like relief in the mix. It finally settles on smug, which just makes Johnny roll his eyes.

“I’m not looking either, in case you were wondering,” Mark says, flopping onto his beach towel, like he hadn’t just been complaining about the sand on his back a moment before. “Besides, it seems like it would be rude to try and hook up with someone when I’m on a trip with you.”

Johnny’s not sure if Mark means that his attitude would be different if he’d gone on this trip with anyone else, or if he truly means because he’s here with Johnny and they have history. Either way, it settles a nerve that Johnny hadn’t even known had ignited inside him.

“Cool,” Johnny says. “Glad we could -- get this out of the way?”

Mark laughs, settling into the sand a bit more. His upper body is shaded from their tent, but his legs are sticking out in the sun. He’s going to get a weird tan, Johnny muses.

“I’m glad you came, Johnny-hyung,” Mark says after a moment. “I know it didn’t seem like it at the beginning, but. I’m glad now.”

Johnny thinks back to that day in the boardroom, how he’d been told that Johnny joining this trip had been Mark’s idea, thinks about how Mark had refuted the claim. He’d been inclined to believe Mark then, but Johnny’s not so sure now. And would it change anything if Mark had been lying? Johnny’s not so sure about that either, and he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much.

Instead, he settles himself on his towel, shimmying down far enough so just his head is lying in the shade and the rest of his body peeks out. It’s not the warmest out, but that’s almost better than sitting in the sweltering heat. They’ll get enough of that as they continue to travel west.

“I’m glad I came, too,” he says, long after Mark’s dozed off, when the only sound is the crash of the waves on the beach and the birds overhead.

They spend their last day in Sydney wandering around the botanical gardens, which had, surprisingly, been Mark’s idea.

The space itself is huge, taking up the peninsula before the opera house. Johnny examines a map they’d picked up from their hotel. 

“I don’t even know where to begin,” he says, squinting at the little numbers on the map that correspond to different points of interest. “There’s so much.”

“How about we start right here and just start walking?” Mark asks. We can stop and sit on the lawns and visit the shops and like, look at flowers and shit.”

Johnny bobs his head. “There’s a tour at 10:30 if you want to do that.”

Mark looks at his watch. “We better hurry, then,” he says and, without pause, grabs Johnny’s hand and pulls him along one of the paths in the garden directing them towards the tour meeting spot. 

The day seems to pass by in a blur even though they don’t do much. They tour the garden, lounge about, buy some souvenirs at the gift shop. Mark finds a suitable koala plushie for their dorm auntie. Johnny finds a nice smelling candle his mother will like. Throughout it all, Mark’s hand slips in and out of his own, a soft easy pressure that Johnny finds comforting. He’s not sure if it falls into his plan of rebuilding their friendship, but he figures there’s nothing wrong with a little hand-holding now and then. It doesn’t seem to change anything in Mark, just makes it easier to share his easy enthusiasm with Johnny as they meander throughout the park.

They’re wandering through a bloomless rose garden when Johnny feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he pulls it out he’s surprised to see Donghyuck’s caller ID on the display. He’s about to answer it, but then pauses; he’s not sure what the reason for the call is, so he waves Mark on ahead and presses the accept button before it rings out.

“Hyung, hi,” Donghyuck says cheerfully. 

“Hi,” Johnny says cautiously. “What’s up?”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to hear from Donghyuck, but Johnny’s known his little mischief maker for too long now to not be wary when Donghyuck calls sounding as happy as he is.

“Just wanted to check in and see how you guys were doing,” Donghyuck replies. “You’re still in Australia, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you find me a souvenir?”

Johnny glances at the bag dangling from Mark’s hand as he examines the sign for an empty bush. The thing about coming in the winter, Johnny muses, is that nothing but the indoor displays are in bloom. 

“Yeah, we haven’t forgotten about you.”

“Oh good,” Donghyuck says. “I mean, I’m pretty unforgettable.”

Johnny sighs. If he lets him, Donghyuck will beat around the bush for hours. He’d once described it as wearing down the other person’s guard. Johnny just thinks it’s almost wearing on his patience instead.

“Is there a reason you’re calling, Hyuckie, or are you just tryin to rack up my long distance minutes?”

“Well, mostly I wanted to know about my souvenir, but I did also want to find out if you two were still alive. Mark-hyung wasn’t answering his phone, so I assumed you murdered him.”

Johnny blinks. “I did _not_ murder him,” he hisses. “Why does everyone think I would be the one to kill Mark in this situation?”

Mark glances back at him at the mention of his name, but it’s clear he’s too far away to hear what Johnny’s talking about otherwise. Johnny waves him away.

“I roomed with you for two years,” Donghyuck points out. “If you thought you were being subtle with how mad you were, well. You weren’t.”

The news isn’t exactly -- surprising, but Johnny still feels his face flush a little from embarrassment anyway. He hates that he’d let his angst get the better of him after he and Mark had their falling out, and dislikes even more the fact that Donghyuck could pick up on it so easily.

“Well, we’re fine,” Johnny replies, then adds, “We might even be friends again.”

The line is so deadly quiet that Johnny has to check to see if Donghyuck’s hung up on him. “Hyuckie?” he asks when he sees the timer ticking away. “You still there?”

“Sure,” Donghyuck says. “It’s just. I thought you just said that you and Mark-hyung are friends again?”

It suddenly strikes Johnny that, of all the other members of their group, Donghyuck might be the one person Mark would’ve told everything to. They’d never said that they wouldn’t, but Johnny never has to anyone except Ten, and judging from the way most of the others tiptoe around the subject, they understand the gist but not the details. Johnny has no idea where Donghyuck may stand in all that.

“We’re just -- taking things slow, I guess,” Johnny says, “but we sort of agreed to be nice to each other.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean. We didn’t really say it in so many words but I think the tension was making us a little crazy.”

Donghyuck laughs, the same cackle sound that’s so at odds with his bell-like voice. “Probably,” he says. He pauses to catch his breath and adds, “Seriously, though, hyung. I’m glad you and Mark-hyung are working things out.”

“Were we really that bad to be around?” Johnny asks.

“I guess not,” Donghyuck replies. “I mean, it was always kind of awkward on variety shows and whatnot, but you guys were always professional. I’ll give you that. I just mean. On a personal level, I’m glad you guys are trying to be adults about this.”

It feels kind of weird, to be reprimanded by the maknae, but maybe even weirder to be so cared about that people are calling to check up on him. Or, on both of them. 

“Well, we had to grow up sometime,” Johnny says. “Think it’s your turn, though, Hyuckie.”

Donghyuck splutters, “I’m an adult,” he whines, but both he and Johnny know how much he likes to be babied.

“Sure thing,” Johnny replies. “I should go, though. You’re going to love your souvenir.”

“I better,” Donghyuck says. “Bye, hyung.” He hangs up before Johnny can get another word in, which is so completely like him that Johnny isn’t even surprised. 

He wasn’t really expecting to have a deep heart-to-heart with Donghyuck the same way he had with Ten, but it still shines a bit of light on the outside perspective of their relationship that Johnny hasn’t been privy to. The fact that Donghyuck is concerned enough to call him about it makes him wonder about how often the other members talked about him and Mark. 

Speaking of which. 

Johnny glances around and finds Mark sitting in a little gazebo off the main path. He’s reading another little sign inside when Johnny sidles up to the railing. He’s just tall enough that he can lean against it and prop his chin on his folded arms. 

“Hey,” he says, catching Mark’s attention.

“Hey,” Mark replies. “Nice chat?”

“It was Donghyuck, so about as nice as it is to have a focused conversation with him and then have him hang up on you in the end.”

Mark laughs. “Yeah, true,” he says. He gets to his feet so he can lean against the railing next to Johnny.

“You should give him a call,” Johnny says. “He said he was trying to get ahold of you but called me when you wouldn’t answer.”

Mark shrugs. “It’s nothing personal,” he says. “I’ve been ignoring everyone’s calls.”

Johnny thinks about the sushi restaurant in Tokyo, all the messages Mark had received before he’d turned his phone off. 

“So you’re leaving me to fend off all your friends?” he asks, aiming for light-hearted.

Mark shrugs again. “I think I just want to be here, in the present,” he says. “I know what all the calls are about, whether they’re from the members or the company.”

It takes Johnny a moment to process Mark’s words. “The company is calling you?” he asks, wary. There’s also something in him that rises up in his throat, a feeling that threatens to strangle him. Protectiveness.

“Yeah, but I’m ignoring them,” Mark says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Mark - “

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats firmly. It’s the first time since their fight at the ramen restaurant that Johnny’s caught a glimpse of this battle-hardened Mark, the one that’s jaded and bitter and unhappy. He reaches out and runs a hand down Mark’s back, making him shiver.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” he says.

Mark turns to look down at him. After a moment, his shoulders relax and his smile returns. It’s small, but it’s something. “Thanks, hyung,” he says. He pushes off from the railing and heads for the stairs. Johnny meets him at the bottom. “Do you want to go look at the indoor orchid display? There should be actual flowers for us to look at.”

In some ways, Johnny doesn’t want to dodge the issue. He wants to talk everything out -- their relationship, the awkwardness between them, the calls Mark is getting from the company -- but Johnny can read the room. Mark is resistant right now, and bringing any of those things up will just end up in a blowout in the middle of the park. Still, Johnny knows he can’t let this go for the whole trip. Mark had said he wanted everything to stop feeling like a powder keg, but the more they leave hanging, the more Johnny can start to feel it too. He just hopes Mark is smart enough to know when the fuse is going to blow.

“Sure,” he says, tossing an arm over Mark’s shoulders. They have more days to figure everything out, more cities to explore and lose themselves in. Sydney’s been good for them, as given them a certain kind of freedom to let them be themselves. And if they don’t get things figured out, well. Johnny’s not afraid to light the fuse and blow them up himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from lauv's "who ft. bts"


	4. a souvenir that you can keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for internalized homophobia in this chapter

The itinerary gives them a longer stay in Paris than in Tokyo or Sydney, and Johnny figures it must be to account for the jet lag. When he steps off their flight more than a day after they departed, he feels extremely off-balance. Mark looks about the same. 

“I’m going to need to sleep for the next 24 hours just to feel human again,” Mark announces as they pull their luggage off the belt and stumble off towards the taxi stand. 

“I think I’m going to need to go for a walk just to make sure my legs are still working,” Johnny replies, “but I’m not overly confident I won’t just keel over where I’m standing.”

Mark laughs, but it’s exhausted sounding. As they stand in line for a taxi, he leans into Johnny’s side, tucking his head against Johnny’s shoulder. They’re pressed together, despite the hot, muggy weather, and Johnny settles into it, letting one arm curl around Mark’s waist to keep him standing.

There’s still that aching, heavy tension between them, but it seems to be simmering now. They’d spent a lot of the flight chatting, getting back into the groove of being friendly again. Everything feels more familiar now, almost like riding a bike after not having gone out for several years. It’s reassuring that his friendship with Mark can be the same way.

Their hotel in Paris is more opulent than either of the other hotels they stayed in. Johnny has to blink against the shimmer of the crystal chandelier when they enter the lobby, shoes squeaking against the white marble floor.

Their room is just as nice: dominated by one huge king-sized bed and decorated with antique furniture in pale, modern colours. There’s a set of French doors that lead out to a small balcony with just enough room for two people to sit on.

“There’s just one bed,” Johnny notes as they stumble inside. He can already feel his eyes drooping as he attempts to not trip out of his shoes. 

“It’s fine,” Mark says. He’s already managed to faceplant on the sheets, and Johnny stumbles over to yank his shoes off his feet. Mark crawls up the bed when they thunk to the floor. “Doesn’t matter in the face of jet lag.”

“Cool, sounds good.” Johnny sets his phone alarm for three hours and then jumps on the other side of the bed, smiling tiredly at the way Mark grumbles as he bounces. 

“Hyung,” he whines.

“Get some sleep. We’ll go out when we wake up,” Johnny comments. A moment later, he’s out cold.

When Johnny wakes up to his alarm three hours later, it takes him a while to understand where he is and what’s happening. He manages to turn off the incessant buzzing of his phone, but not without some struggle. After another moment of waking up, he realizes why.

Despite the size of the bed, he and Mark had somehow found their way together. Or, rather, Mark had managed to roll his way across the entire bed to cuddle into Johnny’s side. He’s lying on top of one of Johnny’s arms, body curved around Johnny’s like a comma, head tucked into the crook of Johnny’s neck. 

The last time they had woken up together like this, Johnny had eased his way out from Mark’s grip and made them breakfast. He’d brought it back to his bedroom and woken Mark with silly kisses to his cheeks that had Mark giggling breathlessly. They’d eaten breakfast in bed and had made out after and rolled around in the sheets for even longer. It was one of their rare off-days and Johnny was eager to spend all of it with Mark.

He’d also been eager for something else: a conversation he had considered long overdue. They’d been kissing each other for almost a year, sleeping together for just about half as long. Johnny was in love, and he had thought Mark had been too. Mark with his starry eyes and soft smiles and bright laughs. Johnny had asked Mark to be his boyfriend and in not so many words, Mark had told him no.

Johnny doesn’t want to dwell on it. As carefully as he can, he extracts himself from Mark’s grip and steps out onto the balcony to clear his head. 

They’re surrounded by old stone buildings, apartments stretching all down the block until the road curves and Johnny can’t see anymore. It’s such a classic Parisian view; he snaps a couple photos for his Instagram and reminds himself to get Mark out on the balcony later for a photoshoot with his film camera. He can’t pass up the opportunity.

He settles onto one of the small wrought iron stools and leans back against the wall of the hotel. There’s just enough room for him to stretch his legs out. 

Funny how he’s in the City of Love with the only person he’s ever been in love with.

He’s scrolling through a search result for restaurants nearby when Mark wanders out onto the balcony, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. On one side, his hair is all rucked up while the other lies flat against his head. His glasses are askew. Johnny thinks he looks adorable.

“Good morning,” Mark mumbles around a yawn, sinking into the other chair. 

“Afternoon,” Johnny corrects. 

Mark laughs. “Fuck,” he breathes. “I don’t even know what day it is. Time zones really fuck me up.”

“It’s one o’clock,” Johnny says, “And it’s tomorrow.”

“Cool,” Mark says. They’ve done this enough times that Mark understands what Johnny’s trying to say. “Have you been awake for long?”

Johnny shrugs. “Half an hour or so. You looked really tired so I let you sleep, but I would’ve come back in soon to wake you up.”

“Thanks, dude,” Mark says around a yawn. He stands up for a moment to stretch his arms above his head. Johnny can hear it when his back pops.

“I don’t think that’s healthy,” he comments.

“Probably not, but that’s what 26 hours of travel will get you.”

“You’re 22, not 82,” Johnny says with a laugh. 

“Get off my lawn,” Mark deadpans before dissolving into a fit of giggles. He slides his chair across the balcony so he’s right next to Johnny and can peer at his phone screen. “Oh good, you’re looking for some food.”

“There’s a cafe down the street,” Johnny says. “I could definitely use some coffee and, like, a croissant or something.”

“Croissant,” Mark repeats, rolling the word around on his tongue. “Croissant, croissant.”

“Your accent sucks,” Johnny says. “Didn’t you say you took French in school?”

“Well, yeah, but I only went to school till I was, like, 13,” Mark replies. 

It never fails to surprise Johnny when Mark brings up his schooling. For all the ways their upbringings were similar, Johnny can’t really imagine leaving home at 13 to chase a dream halfway around the world. Mark finished school in Korea at SOPA whereas Johnny never set foot in its hallways for anything other than graduation ceremonies.

“Useless,” Johnny jokes, poking Mark in the ribs. He gets to his feet and stretches before extending his hand to Mark. “C’mon. Let’s go try and wrangle a coffee out of whichever poor barista will have to deal with our bad French.”

“Sure, hyung,” Mark says with a smile. He takes Johnny’s hand, but doesn’t let go, instead leading Johnny back through the doors into the hotel. “Sounds like a blast.”

Paris technically isn’t anything new, either. Mark’s been more times than Johnny has, but there’s never been much time to do anything but wander the streets. They’ve got five full days in the city, this time, and Johnny is itching to see as much as he can.

“Hyung, the museum is huge,” Mark comments the next day. They’re seated in the small plaza outside The Louvre’s main entrance, examining a map on Johnny’s phone. “We’d need, like, a week just to look at everything.”

If they had a week, Johnny would do it, but he doesn’t want to spend his whole trip at The Louvre, and he’s certain Mark wouldn’t want to either. There will be other trips to Paris, he muses. Other opportunities. 

“Okay, well, this wing has the Mona Lisa in it, so I guess we should probably check that out,” Johnny says, jabbing his finger at the map. “And this wing has more statues than paintings, which you might find more enjoyable?”

Mark glances sideways at him. “We don’t have to look at the things that you think I’d like,” he says carefully. “You’re the one that wants to go in, hyung. You should pick the things _you_ want to see. I’m just along for the ride.”

Johnny pauses, then tucks his phone away. “You know, Mark,” he says. “You don’t actually have to come in. Like, if there are other things you want to do in Paris, you can go do them. Like in Tokyo.”

Mark shifts on his cinder block seat, turning so that he can face Johnny properly. He draws one leg up onto the block and rests his chin on his knee. He’s wearing contacts today for the first time since they left for vacation; Johnny wonders what the occasion is.

“I know you’re saying that because you think you’re being nice,” Mark says with a lopsided smile, “but I am actually interested in some of the things in the museum. Besides, you’re super excited to go in and -- I like that.”

Johnny feels his cheeks pink up. When they were younger, in their trainee days, Mark used to spend a lot of time following Johnny around and trying to be into the things that Johnny liked. Sometimes it worked -- they liked a lot of the same kinds of music and a few of the same movies -- but more often than not Mark was trying to shoehorn himself into liking something that just wouldn’t stick to him, all because Johnny was into it. It had taken a talk on the rooftop of the company building one night for Johnny to instill that Mark could be his own person and like the things he liked and people would still want to be friends with him.

Still, it feels nice to be cared about in this way, to be so interesting to someone that they want to take interest in what he likes too.

“And, I want to see the Mona Lisa. Everyone says it’s smaller than they thought. I’m super curious.”

Johnny laughs. He gets to his feet, Mark scrambling up after him and following him towards the main entrance to the museum. The glass pyramid rises up before them; Johnny had spent a lot of time earlier in the morning taking pictures of it.

“We’ll see as much as we can,” Johnny promises. “Including the Mona Lisa.”

“Looking forward to it, hyung,” Mark says. He falls into step and, before Johnny can say anything else, slides his hand into Johnny’s and laces their fingers together. Johnny shoots him a sideways glance, but Mark’s preoccupied as they enter the inside of the pyramid and hop on the escalator, descending below the glass. 

Johnny’s tempted to pull away. He wants to be friends with Mark again, but this feels like stepping into dangerous territory. And he doesn’t want to get his hopes up again. It seems like the silliest reason of all, but Johnny knows his own heart. Given half the chance he’s certain he’d fall right back in love with Mark Lee, and he can guarantee himself this time that it won’t be a happy ending. 

Still, Mark squeezes his hand, clearly in awe of the space around them. Johnny can’t fault him; the museum lobby is huge, people of all types milling about as they stand in line to get tickets or rush off to the different wings to find their favourite pieces of art. Johnny’s heart picks up immediately. He’s excited to spend the day here, and he’s excited to spend it with Mark, too. As friends.

Johnny takes a deep breath. He can do this.

In the end, it’s probably a good thing Mark is holding his hand. Some parts of the museum are so packed that Johnny’s afraid to lose him in the crowd. No one bats an eye, either.

“It says the Mona Lisa is this way,” Mark says, gesturing to the sign on the wall. Even without it, Johnny could guess. They’re funneling into a smaller room with so many people it reminds Johnny of the airport. It’s the only other place he’s seen so many people packed together.

They make it into the room and shuffle with the crowd as they cycle around towards a display in the middle. There, behind layers of plexiglass, sits the most famous portrait in the world.

“Wow, it really is smaller than I thought,” Mark comments. He’s standing on his toes a little to see over the crowd, which Johnny finds endearing. He takes a quick snapshot of the crowd and the painting for his Instagram and then points his camera at Mark.

Mark’s standing stock still. There’s a lady standing behind him, too short to see over Mark’s shoulders. Johnny watches with shocked amusement as she reaches around Mark with her camera held aloft, and snaps a few blind pictures from behind Mark before her arms snake back to her body, freeing Mark. 

“Oh my god,” Johnny wheezes, tugging Mark towards him. Mark stumbles over the other patrons and collides with Johnny’s body with a soft _oof_ before he dissolves into giggles.

“Hyung,” he gasps, letting Johnny guide them out of the room. “Hyung, did you see that?”

“I did,” Johnny confirms. “Everybody wants to hold Mark Lee.”

Mark laughs harder, and Johnny grins. It feels nice to have the easy camaraderie back between them. He steers them towards a bench in the main gallery and tugs Mark down onto it so Mark can catch his breath.

It feels almost -- surreal, to be sitting in the museum. People of all walks of life stream past them. Some are chatting animatedly, others are staring intently at the paintings on the walls. There are children, grandparents, young couples. Johnny wonders how he and Mark fit into it all. Do people look at them on the bench and wonder about their story? 

He feels Mark tip into his side, head resting on his shoulder. “Let’s take a selfie,” he says, peering up at Johnny from under his bangs. 

“Sure,” Johnny says easily. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out in front of him.

Mark doesn’t move, just grins at the camera sideways. He looks -- happy. Without much thought, Johnny tips his own head so it rests against Mark’s, angles the camera so the painting behind them is in the frame, and snaps the picture.

He lets Mark examine it. “This is cute,” Mark says. His fingers move over the screen, and Johnny watches him send it to himself. “Are you going to post this to Instagram eventually?”

Johnny knows their fans would eat it up. He knows the stories it will spin, the fantasies that will spring from this single interaction that he’ll provide for them, and that’s -- fine. It never gets easier, knowing the things that have been written about him and the members, but it doesn’t hurt him. Still, this picture feels -- private. He likes how genuine their smiles are, how it captures the awe of the museum coupled with all the people who are wandering through it. It’s too intimate to share.

“I don’t think so,” Johnny admits, tucking his phone away. He gets to his feet and hauls Mark up after him. “I think I’ll keep that one for a little while.”

Mark looks pleased. He links his arm through Johnny’s and steers them down a bend in the museum they haven’t been to yet. “Good,” he says. “I was thinking the same thing.”

The museum feels like something out of a dream. Johnny floats through it, the feeling of Mark’s hand in his the only thing tethering him to the ground. He’s in awe of the art surrounding them, and he’s taken by the smiles Mark shoots him, the soft lilt to his laugh. Somewhere across the miles they’ve traveled it’s lost the harshness it had at the beginning of the trip. In fact, all of Mark’s hard edges are eroding, leaving behind a person that more closely resembles the boy Johnny grew up knowing. 

They take a break in a slightly less crowded gallery to vlog for a few minutes and just relax. Mark’s shoulders seem a lot less tense as they put away the vlog camera and just take in the people milling around them.

“You look happy,” Johnny says, leaning back on his palms. 

“I am happy,” Mark replies, easy as anything.

“That implies that you weren’t before.”

Mark hums. He leans back to match Johnny, taking a moment to stretch his legs. A mother and her baby walk by, and Mark pulls his legs in again so he doesn’t trip them. Johnny watches it all with bated breath.

“I wasn’t _unhappy_ ,” Mark says slowly. “I love what we do.”

“But?”

“But I was tired of being a puppet,” Mark replies. “Remember what I asked you? ‘Do you ever want more?’ I think what I really meant was, do you ever want _less_.”

Johnny rolls the idea around in his head for a moment. “Less of the idol life and more of … this.” He waves his hand around the empty space in front of them. 

“Yeah, like. I just wanted a break. It’s been non-stop for so long and I just wanted the opportunity to be myself for a bit. Or find myself. Shit, I don’t know. Just. You know, figure it out.”

Johnny gets it. There’s a part of him still that wishes he hadn’t been asked to do this trip with Mark, that he could be back in Korea working on new music, putting in the hours in the practice room. But a different part of him -- maybe even a _bigger_ part -- is glad he came. He’s happy that he and Mark can have a polite conversation again. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Johnny says. “And have you. Figured things out yet?”

It’s not intended to be a heavy question, but as soon as the words are out of Johnny’s mouth, he realizes what he could be implying. _Have you figured out what you want, what you like?_ Who _you like?_ If Mark chooses to interpret it, he could be answering for the past two years, not the past two weeks. 

“A little,” Mark replies, shooting Johnny a sideways glance. “I think I know things about myself that I didn’t know before. And I think I admitted some things to myself that I was too scared to admit before, too.”

Johnny waits, his heart in his throat, but Mark doesn’t elaborate. He fiddles with his phone, twirling it between his hands and stares at the painting directly across from them. It’s huge, taking up an entire stretch of wall. It’s funny how the most sought after painting in the museum is hardly bigger than a piece of printer paper while the largest paintings Johnny’s ever seen have names he’s never heard.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says after a pregnant pause. 

Mark turns then to face Johnny properly. “Maybe you can know those things too, soon,” he says.

The tension between them feels heavy. Johnny’s reminded of Mark’s powder keg analogy on the steps of the Sydney Opera House. He can feel the pressure now, like one misstep will blow whatever fragile truce they have into pieces. Johnny’s been anticipating it for the whole trip now.

“Whenever you’re ready, Markie,” Johnny says. 

Mark visibly shivers at the nickname. He gets to his feet, stretching his arms overhead before shaking, almost like a dog. Johnny can’t help but smile.

“Let’s keep going,” Mark says. He shoves his hands into his pockets, the first time he hasn’t reached out for Johnny all day. “There’s still a lot of art left to look at.”

“Sure thing,” Johnny says. He hopes that they’ve managed to revive enough of their friendship that Mark will open up to him when he’s ready. Johnny could, of course, initiate these conversations, but he’s a coward; he’s scared of what he’ll find. “I’ll follow your lead,” he says, gesturing down the hallway. He hopes Mark gets the meaning behind his words.

Mark eyes him critically. He purses his lips but nods his head. “Sure,” he says. Somehow, Johnny thinks he got it.

They spend most of the next day taking it easy. Mark wants to go lie around in Luxembourg Gardens, so they buy a cheap picnic blanket from one of the souvenir shops, some snacks, and find a nice spot on the grass amongst all the other people with the same idea as them.

“This is nice,” Mark says. He’s sprawled across half the blanket, leaving Johnny with a tiny corner to sit on, much to his amusement. Mark looks like a cat in the sun. “I could get used to this.”

“Hanging out with half the tourists in the city?” Johnny asks, gesturing towards all the people that are surrounding them. “The other half that isn’t at The Louvre?”

Mark giggles. “I mean, the doing nothing part. The lying around and relaxing. Hanging out with you.”

“Mark, you’d go crazy if you just did nothing for the rest of your life,” Johnny points out. “Half the reason you joined so many groups when you were younger was because you liked having the projects.”

“Yeah, and I’m not complaining about that,” Mark says, rolling over so that he can rest his head in Johnny’s lap. Johnny’s hand automatically comes up to card through Mark’s hair. “Maybe I just wish that there were enough hours in the day so that I can do all the things I want _and_ lie around in a garden.”

“Mmm, the dream,” Johnny hums. “More hours in the day.”

They’re in a lull again, a break between all the tension that keeps building. It’s easy to ignore it when it’s not there; Johnny sort of wants to just sit in this moment forever and forget he has responsibilities. He doesn’t want to think about going back to Korea, but he also doesn’t want to think about the conversations he has to have with Mark. If he could just exist in this singular moment and not worry about it all, that would be ideal.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks Mark, glancing back down at the boy in his lap. Mark’s wearing contacts again today. It makes it easy for him to nuzzle his face into Johnny’s thigh.

“Kissing you,” he replies, which makes Johnny freeze.

“What?”

Mark blinks up at him, an impish grin on his face. “I said, I’m thinking about kissing you.”

“I heard you,” Johnny says, finding his voice again and rolling his eyes. “ _Why_ are you thinking about kissing me?”

Mark shrugs, which is difficult when he’s lying down. “I guess I was just thinking that this is nice. If we were here two years ago it’d be the kind of place you’d take me to for a date.”

 _Even though we weren’t dating,_ Johnny thinks bitterly. 

“And then, I guess, I just thought that it would be really nice to kiss you here, where no one is looking and no one would care anyway. We’re surrounded by all these people but if I kissed you right now, no one would be bothered by it.”

Johnny swallows. Mark’s looking up at him with a curious expression. The corner of his mouth is twisted, but his eyes are wide and bright. 

“You can say what you really want to say, Mark,” he whispers.

“Johnny, can I kiss you?”

Johnny swallows again.

“We’re friends now, right?” Mark asks, propping himself up on one hand so he can look at Johnny properly. “And it’s been a couple years. I just thought -- maybe it’d be nice just to kiss. To have this moment when we both know it’s not something we could ever do back home.”

Mark -- has a point. Regardless of whether or not it’s with Mark or another boy, Johnny can’t go around kissing boys in public in Korea. Besides the fact that he’s an idol, most people wouldn’t appreciate the public display of affection from two men.

But here, people don’t care. Mark is right. They’re wide out in the open, but no one would be bothered if they shared a brief kiss. He may not have this opportunity again, or at least, not for a long while.

“Okay,” Johnny hears himself say, as if from very far away.

Mark’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” he asks, but he’s already leaning in.

“I mean, you’re right,” Johnny says, trying his best to stand his ground. “We’re -- friends. And we’d never get to do this at home. It’s -- fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” Mark points out.

He’s not. Not really. Johnny’s heart is pounding, but it’s not full of anxiety, like he thought it would. It’s full of -- anticipation. He’s waiting for Mark to close the distance between them. He _wants_ Mark to, and that’s maybe scarier than the anxiety would’ve been.

Because it just goes to show that even after two years and countless fights and an endless stream of mean words, names, and comments, Johnny still holds a flame for Mark Lee.

“Just do it, Mark,” Johnny says, and Mark leans in.

He’s not really sure what he was expecting, but kissing Mark now is largely the same as it was kissing him two years ago. His lips move the same, and he still sighs the same way when Johnny sucks a little at his lower lip. If they weren’t in public, Johnny figures Mark’s mouth would part the same way to let Johnny’s tongue into his mouth, and he’d probably make the same whining sound in the back of his throat if they could grind their bodies together.

They’re in a public park, though. After a long moment, Mark pulls away. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright, and Johnny thinks he looks beautiful.

His heart hurts.

“Thanks,” Mark says, licking his lips. “You’re -- you’re something else, Johnny Suh.”

Johnny just closes his eyes and tips his head back into the sun.

Something changes between them after that. 

Johnny’s not entirely surprised, but it doesn’t mean that he welcomes the change. He accepts it because he’s weak, but he knows better, knows that he shouldn’t be so weak to Mark Lee’s whims.

And yet.

They spend the rest of the day wandering around the streets of Paris, Mark either hooking his arm through Johnny’s or holding hands. Johnny buys them both coffees and pastries at a French patisserie, and Mark drags them across bridges until they can stand outside the walls of Notre Dame. 

Johnny doesn’t quite understand what’s going on between them, and Mark offers no explanations of his own. He’s just the same as he was in Sydney, chipper and eager to race around and take everything in. There’s no change in his expression that will tell Johnny what he’s thinking, no difference in the way he speaks or holds himself. The only thing that’s changed is the way he clings to Johnny like Johnny might just up and disappear on him. Johnny can’t deny it’s a tempting thought.

“What are you doing?” he asks, watching Mark wander around the square. “Isn’t all the interesting stuff _inside_ the cathedral?”

“Sure,” Mark says, “but I saw this thing online and I just wanted to see if I could find it. It should be here somewhere, but they said it was a bit obscure -- oh! Found it.”

Johnny ambles over, coming to a stop next to Mark and looking down at the bronze plaque he’s pointing at. “Point Zero,” he reads. “Des routes de France.”

“Supposedly this is the centre of the city,” Mark explains. “And where they measure the distance of all highways in France.”

“Sounds. Legit,” Johnny says skeptically.

Mark just laughs. “The point is, supposedly if you make a wish here, your wish will come true.”

“So you’re going to make a wish.”

Mark pouts. “Don’t say it like that,” he whines. “I just thought. It was cute.”

It is cute. The fact that Mark sought this out on his own is cute, too. He pulls his film camera out of his bag and gestures at Mark. “Go on, then,” he says, bringing the viewfinder to his eye. If he angles it just right he can get Mark in the foreground on the left and Notre Dame in the background on the right. “Make a wish.”

“Hyung,” Mark whines. “You’re giving me performance anxiety.”

“Yeah, like you haven’t pulled off every stage you’ve ever been given,” Johnny complains. “Just make a wish. Other people are waiting.”

This seems to spur Mark on than anything else; he hates to disappoint people, Johnny thinks, which is sort of ironic, given their history. Still. He snaps a picture as soon as Mark clasps his hands together and bows his head, fringe hanging in his eyes. It’ll probably come out extra nice as a black and white photo.

After a moment, Mark steps off the marker and makes his way back to Johnny. Someone else takes his place to make their own wish.

“Was it a good wish?” Johnny asks, tucking his camera into his bag.

“Sure,” Mark says. “I mean, I wasn’t going to waste it on something dumb.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. Mark just huffs and says, “You should make a wish, too.”

“I don’t need anything,” Johnny replies automatically. This time, Mark is the one raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t want to wish for anything?”

Johnny opens his mouth and then closes it again. He knows exactly what he would wish for, or at least, the vein of what he would wish for. The idea sits in the back of his mind, but he knows what it will mean if he lets it fully materialize. 

“I -- it’s stupid,” he says. “And like you said, it shouldn’t be wasted on something dumb.”

Mark shrugs. “I mean, if you’ve got nothing else you can wish for something dumb.”

Johnny hesitates, but it’s that moment of indecision that allows Mark to push him forward onto Point Zero. “Make a wish, hyung,” he breathes into Johnny’s ear before stepping back.

Johnny balks. He doesn’t want to make a wish, but Mark’s looking at him so expectantly that he can’t help but duck his head and clasp his hands together. It’s not like he actually has to wish for anything, either. He can just stand here and pretend. 

But it’s hard to pretend when he knows what he wants. Johnny tries his best to think of something, _anything_ else, but before he knows it the wish blooms, fully formed in his head. Johnny exhales, like he can breathe the words into existence, release them into the universe and let fate to the rest of the work.

_I wish for something good with Mark Lee._

They find a cute little bistro to eat dinner at. 

Johnny likes it immediately. The lights are dim and the walls are a combination of exposed brick and vintage floral wallpaper. It gives it a modern yet comfortable vibe. The tables are covered in white tablecloths, with expertly folded napkins sitting at each place setting.

“Fancy,” Mark comments, poking lightly at his napkin after the server comes by to take their orders.

“French,” Johnny corrects, which makes Mark smile. 

It reminds Johnny of one of the few times he and Mark went out to a nice restaurant while they were -- seeing each other. The ambiance is the same, and the atmosphere between them is the same too: Mark looks awkward, like he feels like he shouldn’t be in such a nice restaurant. Johnny remembers sitting at a table in Korea feeling comfortable and secure in his relationship, unaware of what would occur a few months later.

“So, what else do you want to do while we’re in Paris?” Johnny asks. 

“I think we should actually go up the Eiffel Tower,” Mark says, which makes Johnny raise his eyebrow. “I know, I know, scared of heights et cetera, et cetera. But c’mon. It’s like, the thing to do in Paris and we’ve never done it even though we’ve been here a bunch.”

Johnny thinks that half the point of the Eiffel Tower is to take pictures _of_ it, which would be difficult if he were standing _on_ it, but he has to admit that he’d like to go up to the viewing decks. Just to say that he did.

“Okay,” he says, watching the smile grow on Mark’s face. “What else?”

“Shopping? Or window shopping, I guess. We’re in one of the most fashionable cities in the world, after all.”

“That sounds like something I’m supposed to say,” Johnny points out. “Who are you and what have you done with Mark Lee, noted fashion disaster?”

Mark squawks unattractively. A few heads turn to find the source of the commotion, which makes Mark sink down in his seat. Johnny can’t help but laugh.

“My clothes aren’t _that_ bad, are they?” Mark mutters. He looks like a petulant child. Weird how two weeks ago Johnny would have found this behaviour infuriating. Instead, he finds it endearing. 

“Well, considering you switched mostly to an all-black wardrobe, no, it’s not that bad,” Johnny replies. “It’s hard to mess up when you can’t really discern any article of clothing from the other.”

Mark huffs, but there’s a hint of laughter hidden in it, too. 

Johnny smiles and asks, “Why did you get rid of all your clothes? Like, honestly, do you even own a speck of colour in your wardrobe anymore?”

Mark bites his lip. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, Johnny can see the blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I, uh. Just didn’t like them anymore, hyung,” he replies. 

“Sure,” Johnny replies. “Even that red plaid shirt you wore every other day in 2019?” 

“Hyung,” Mark whines.

“What, did you stain them all? Dye everything some weird colour in the wash because you still don’t know how to wash your clothes properly?” Johnny can tell he’s agitating Mark, but he feels like he’s a runaway train. He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep pushing Mark’s buttons, see what he can get Mark to admit.

Johnny’s striking the match next to the powder keg, but he’s not ready to set it ablaze. Not yet.

“They just -- they all reminded me of you,” Mark mumbles, before burying his face in his hands.

Johnny feels lost for words. “I -- all of them?” he asks.

Mark shrugs helplessly. The server comes by and drops their food off, clearly curious as to what’s caused Mark so much distress. Johnny thanks her and then kicks Mark under the table.

“Yeah, all of it,” Mark says sulkily. “And then I went through what Hyuckie calls my ‘repressed-teenager life-crisis’ stage and now I have a wardrobe full of black and grey.”

Johnny can’t help but giggle. What else can he do? Mark admitting he had an emotional crisis about all his clothes after their fallout is more sad than amusing, but laughing feels like the only way Johnny can cope with all the revelations Paris is handing him.

“So what you’re saying is that we should go shopping so you can buy some new, colourful clothes,” Johnny says, trying to spare Mark a little embarrassment. 

“I mean, I guess,” Mark says. “Or I could raid Taeyong’s closet when we get back. It’s not like he’s going to be using any of his clothes while he’s away.” Just like that, Mark is back to normal, the melancholy of his memories shaken off like water off his back.

“Well, here’s to a new wardrobe,” Johnny says, raising his water glass. “Wherever you may find it.”

“It’s not much of a toast with just water,” Mark says, clinking his glass against Johnny’s. 

Johnny glances around the room. Most of the tables have a bottle of wine open. He picks up the wine list on the table, scans it for a moment, then flags their server down.

“We’ll grab a bottle,” he says, pointing at a cabernet sauvignon halfway down the list. Mark laughs.

“Cheers, hyung,” he says, picking up his fork and digging into his food.

Even after all these years, Mark is still a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.

He’s not drunk by any means -- Johnny wouldn’t let him do that in public, and especially not a fancy restaurant -- but he’s tipsy and giggly and stumbles over his feet when they exit the restaurant a bottle of wine later. Johnny wraps an arm around his waist just so Mark won’t fall into the street and get run over by a car, but Mark takes it as an invitation to latch onto Johnny’s side and cling.

“Hyung,” Mark breathes around a giggle. “Hyung, I think we should move to Paris.”

Johnny laughs. He’s buzzed, for sure, but not nearly as far along as Mark. Just enough for his tongue to feel loose and his inhibitions to have wandered free for the night. Johnny doesn’t miss them.

“We can’t speak French,” he points out. “We’d be disasters.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t speak Korean when we moved to Korea and now we’re, like, fluent.”

“You still suck at reading.”

“So do you!” Mark exclaims, then dissolves into laughter again.

Even as Mark babbles on about something else, Johnny can’t help but imagine a life here, with Mark. A spacious apartment with a balcony just a little bit bigger than the one off their hotel room. Old wood flooring and rustic countertops and billowy curtains. A big bed with clean, crisp, white sheets. Johnny watches it all play out like a movie; he can picture exactly how Mark would look in this space, easy and languid and pliant. Like he belongs.

It’s a life they can’t have now, not the way Johnny would want it. Two anonymous people in a city of millions. They’ve been pretty lucky avoiding fans so far on this trip, but Johnny knows it has to do with the fact that none of their schedules were announced. If this were a public trip he has no doubt they’d be followed by mobs of fans every day. 

He glances down at Mark, who’s doing his best to walk while keeping his head planted on Johnny’s shoulder. They must look like some ridiculous three-legged monster walking down the street.

“Maybe we should sit down for a moment,” he says. They’ve wandered over to the river, and after another couple minutes they find a small patch of grass to settle on. Mark falls down in a bit of a graceless heap, which gets Johnny laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Mark whines, rolling onto his back and staring up at Johnny with wide, hurt eyes. He pouts and makes grabby hands to get Johnny to sit down next to him.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” Johnny comments as he takes a seat on the grass. “I haven’t seen you like this in forever.”

Mark huffs and sits up, tipping his body against Johnny’s. “I mostly drink with Yuta-hyung,” he says. “He doesn’t mind when I get all -- “ Mark waves his hand around aimlessly. “ -- cuddly.”

“You should drink with Jungwoo instead,” Johnny replies mildly. “I think he’d die if you threw yourself all over him like this.”

Mark laughs. “He gets just as cuddly when he drinks. We’d be -- we’d be -- a cuddle monster!”

It’s easy to sit together like this, Mark giggling intermittently about nothing in particular. Johnny props himself up on one hand and uses the other to wrap around Mark’s waist. He thinks about his wish on Point Zero. _I wish for something good with Mark Lee._ This could be good. A friendship like this could be good -

“What are you thinking about?”

Mark’s question startles Johnny. He’d honestly thought Mark had fallen asleep, but Mark’s looking at him from under long lashes, mouth twisted contemplatively at the corner. The question reminds him of earlier in the day before, in Luxembourg Gardens.

“You,” Johnny replies truthfully, because he’s three glasses of wine into his feelings.

“Me,” Mark says, incredulously, then adds, “I thought you hated me.”

It stings, to hear it said so plainly, even if it was a truth for so long. Johnny did hate Mark, but he doesn’t now. He hasn’t since Tokyo, and he tells Mark as much.

“I’m glad,” Mark says with a sigh. “I was mad for a little while, but mostly I just missed you all that time.”

Johnny feels his breath catch. “You hated me too,” he says, but it comes out almost like a question.

Mark giggles. “No, I didn’t,” he says. “You scared me. You told me things I didn’t want to hear, that I didn’t want to admit to myself. And I hurt you, and then it felt like it was too late.”

“But you were so -- so fucking _mean_.”

“So were you,” Mark says. “I might not have hated you, hyung, but I’m only human. You really pissed me off sometimes.”

Johnny bites his lip. They’re on the cusp of admitting something, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear it. He wants to, but it also means bursting whatever little bubble they’ve built around themselves since Sydney. Johnny’s a coward.

“Hyung.” Mark’s voice is soft and lilting, sleepy sounding.

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you? Again?”

A coward with a weak heart.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.”

Mark leans in, pauses just a breath away from Johnny’s lips. He can smell the wine on Mark’s breath, the reminder that they’re not sober, but the thought is whisked from his mind by the first tentative press of lips on lips.

Unlike Luxembourg Gardens, there’s no one around. No one to see two boys kissing on the grass beside the Seine, half illuminated by a street light 10 feet behind them. No one to hear the way Johnny groans when Mark nips teasingly at his lips, or the way Mark whines when Johnny tugs him in impossibly closer.

The arm that Johnny was using to prop himself up threatens to collapse underneath him, but Mark seems to just take this as encouragement. He’s leaning so far into Johnny that he might as well be in his lap, and after a moment Johnny feels his arm give way, feels himself be pushed into the grass by Mark’s incessant hands. 

Kissing Mark in the gardens had been nice, but making out with Mark in the darkness feels sinful. It feels like something Johnny isn’t allowed to want anymore, let alone have. He chases the sound of Mark’s moans with his tongue, encourages the grind of Mark’s body against his with a firm press of his hand, runs his fingers through Mark’s messy black hair.

He has no idea how long they lie there, but eventually, their kisses slow. Mark’s breath comes out like a sigh as he shifts until he can lie against Johnny’s chest, head tucked neatly under his chin. They’ve lain like this a hundred times before, but never like this. Never as two people coming back together.

“We should go back,” Johnny says once his head stops spinning and his breath starts to feel a little more even in his lungs. “We should -- we should talk about this.”

Mark makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. It makes Johnny a little nervous; he wants -- something with Mark, but he’s not sure what he’s willing to give up. Can he compromise on talking about where they stand for more kisses? A handjob in the shower? Sex on the pristine sheets of their hotel bed?

Johnny’s always been weak for Mark Lee. Now he’s afraid to find out just how much. 

By the time they get back to their hotel, they’re both mostly sober, but it doesn’t seem to make Mark any less clingy. He wraps himself around Johnny’s arm and refuses to let go, even when Johnny tries to use his arm to get his room key out of his pocket.

“You either need to open the door yourself, or let me get my key out of my pocket,” Johnny says. He feels simultaneously light and heavy, wide awake and tired. 

To his surprise, Mark digs his own hand into Johnny’s pocket and pulls out the key, swiping it through the door and nudging them inside. Johnny shivers at the lingering feeling of Mark’s hand against his thigh.

The door swings shut and Johnny’s back hits the wall next to it, pressed against the wallpaper by Mark’s body. Johnny’s hands automatically find their way to Mark’s waist, helping Mark balance as he rocks up onto his toes to kiss him again. It’s the first time he’s done it without asking since they touched down in Paris.

Johnny’s sober enough now to really know that this isn’t a good idea, and he knows Mark is in the same state of sobriety, but his heart is thudding too loudly in his ears for him to properly listen to logic. He can admit this to himself now, but he wants Mark. He wants the easy way their bodies fit together. He wants to wrench noises from Mark’s mouth, involuntary sounds that Mark can’t help, as if they’re punched out of him. 

Mark moans when Johnny shifts enough to slot a leg between Mark’s thighs. He grinds down, starts up a steady rhythm that has him rocking against Johnny. With every sinuous roll, his own leg brushes against Johnny’s crotch, sending a shiver down Johnny’s spine. 

“Fuck,” Mark moans as Johnny trails his lips along the edge of Mark’s jaw. He sucks a bruise into the spot just behind Mark’s ear, the one he knows will make Mark shake, and is not disappointed by the way it makes Mark’s hips stutter. “Johnny.”

He’s not sure if it’s the sound of Mark’s voice, or the calling of his name that makes him snap out of his lust-fueled daze, but whatever it is, it makes Johnny pause. He presses one last lingering kiss to the spot behind Mark’s ear and pulls back, slipping his leg from between Mark’s. Mark whines, trying to tip forward into Johnny’s space again, but Johnny stops him with a hand on his chest.

“I know we’re mostly sober now, but I don’t want to do this with you when we’ve been drinking,” he says, trying to keep his voice level.

Mark frowns. “I’m not drunk, Johnny,” he says. “I know what I want.”

“Then humour me,” Johnny says, pushing lightly at Mark’s chest until he steps back. “Not tonight.”

For a moment, he’s afraid that Mark will shut down on him. There’s a brief flicker of a blank expression on Mark’s face, the mask that he wears for the company, for the fans. It’s replaced, instead, by frustration. 

“Hyung,” he whines. 

“Go take a shower,” Johnny says. He reaches out and brushes the hair out of Mark’s eyes, a placating touch that Mark melts into. 

“Fine,” Mark says petulantly. “Do you want to join me?”

Johnny laughs. “That defeats the purpose,” he says. He slips past Mark into the rest of the room. “Go, Mark.”

He waits until he hears the bathroom door close before he turns around again. The sound of the shower creates white noise in the background as Johnny gets ready for bed, stripping down to a t-shirt and his underwear. His own erection is starting to flag, but there’s still a noticeable bulge in the front of his briefs. Johnny sighs and adjusts himself before getting into bed.

Through the wall, Mark moans. It’s soft, quiet enough that Johnny can barely hear it, but it’s there. A moment later, a second moan, followed by a breathy, “ _Johnny_.”

“Dammit,” Johnny mutters. He knows exactly what Mark is doing, and it makes him bury his head under his pillow. But it doesn’t block out the sounds Mark makes, moans turning into soft whimpers.

Johnny can picture Mark, standing in the shower, one arm braced against the wall while his other hand circles his cock. He can picture the water running in rivulets down Mark’s back, the way the steam dampens and curls Mark’s hair, the tense and flex of defined abdominal muscles. 

“Fuck,” Johnny mutters, dragging his head out from under the pillow and sticking his hand into his underwear. He’s fully hard now, precome beginning to bead at the tip.

Mark’s making these soft, choked noises through the wall, hitching whines that crack in the back of his throat. Johnny knows most of the noises are just for show, knows that Mark doesn’t usually whine this way unless he’s getting fucked. He wonders if Mark’s maybe started fingering himself, slipping tentative but explorative fingers inside of himself.

“Johnny,” Mark calls, clearer, through the bathroom wall. Johnny’s hand speeds up on his cock. It’s a little dry, but he’s starting to leak more and it helps ease the slide of his hand. He hates how quickly Mark can still work him up.

“You close, baby?” he asks. He has his own tricks to use, even after all this time. “You going to come for me?”

“Yeah,” Mark says, breathless and barely audible through the wall. 

“Yeah, I bet,” Johnny grunts. His wrist is getting a little sore, mostly from the pace, but he’s close. He can feel it in the pit of his belly. “Come on, baby. Pretend it’s me.”

This makes Mark moan, loud and authentic. No more teasing. “Johnny,” he calls again. “Feels -- feels good.”

“Yeah, you do, baby,” Johnny says. He’s not entirely sure what Mark is doing in the shower, but it doesn’t matter. It takes a split second before Johnny hears the choked whine, the muffled wail that tells him Mark just came.

His own hand speeds up on his cock, twisting at the tip, thumb swiping over the head. He lets his mind imagine Mark in the shower. Maybe he did end up fingering himself, coming all over the shower wall with his fingers up his ass and his mouth clamped around the meat of his forearm to keep himself from being too loud. Johnny can perfectly picture the way the muscles in Mark’s back would ripple as he arched into the feeling of his orgasm, and it’s this thought that has Johnny coming all over his hand.

He lies there, panting for a moment. The shower turns off in the other room, and Johnny extracts his hand to wipe off the come with a tissue from the night stand. Still, he wants to wash his hands and brush his teeth.

He’s standing opposite the bathroom door when Mark comes out, still rubbing a towel through his hair. His grin, when he meets Johnny’s eye, is impish.

“I had a good shower,” he says, draping the towel around his neck. “But I still think it would’ve been better if you had been there.”

“Go to bed,” Johnny grumbles, pushing Mark towards the bed. Mark just laughs. “I hate you.”

Mark’s laughter is high pitched and lovely sounding, even muffled through the bathroom door.

When Johnny wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty bed. The sheets around him are cool, and when Johnny turns his head to look at the balcony, the doors are still closed. Mark is nowhere to be seen.

A sense of dread settles heavy in the pit of his stomach, but stronger than that is the feeling of shame. Whatever respect he had for himself after his and Mark’s breakup has just been shredded by the harsh light of day and the slap of sobriety. He and Mark made out last night. They -- sort of hooked up through the bathroom wall. Johnny hates that he was desperate enough for something with Mark that he would stoop so low and sell himself out the way he did.

He’s still wallowing in self-pity, thumb hovering over Ten’s contact information in his phone, when the lock on the door clicks and Mark steps into the room. Johnny zeros in on the soft red t-shirt Mark’s wearing; it doesn’t take much to guess that it’s his. Their conversation from the night before is evidence enough that Mark didn’t bring any colour with him on this trip.

“I can hear you freaking out from here,” Mark says, toeing off his shoes. He’s holding a tray of coffees in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “I should’ve left a note but dude, you sleep like the dead. I didn’t think you were going to wake up.”

Johnny feels his cheeks flush. Maybe even worse than falling victim to his horny whims is being reprimanded by Mark Lee at nine in the morning the morning after they hooked up.

“I’m not -- thinking,” he says lamely, which just makes Mark laugh. He sets the coffees down on Johnny’s bedside table, strips off his pants -- much to Johnny’s surprise -- and crawls under the covers on top of Johnny.

“Hi,” he says, grinning impishly. Before Johnny can think better of it, he pulls Mark’s glasses off his face and puts them on the nightstand. It makes Mark’s grin widen. “Eager this morning, are we?”

“Mark,” Johnny says, like a warning. Still, he can’t help but snake his arms around Mark’s waist, keep him secure against his body.

“Didn’t you have a good time last night?” Mark purrs, kissing the line of Johnny’s jaw. “I did. I mean, it would have been better if you’d been _in_ the shower with me instead of out here … “ He trails off as his lips find Johnny’s pulse point. Johnny wonders if Mark can tell how fast his heart is beating, or he can’t notice beyond the pressure he’s applying with his mouth, intent on leaving a lasting bruise.

“Mark, cut it out,” Johnny breathes. “We should -- we should talk about this.”

Mark leaves one last little bite to the bruise he’d been working on before he props himself up, hands on either side of Johnny’s head. His hair hangs comically away from his face, and Johnny reaches up and brushes it to the side automatically. Mark grins, soft and goofy.

“You don’t want to fuck me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Johnny groans.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, even as his body rolls them over so that he’s got Mark trapped underneath him, if only to give himself some semblance of control. His brain is telling him to be logical about this, but his heart is ready to roll, full steam ahead. It would be so easy to fall back into something like friends with benefits with Mark. That’s what they were before. But Johnny knows himself. He’s got one foot through the door already, chasing after a love that he’s tried hard to lock away. 

If Mark’s been waiting for the powder keg to blow, then Johnny’s been waiting for the temptation of opening Pandora’s Box to be too much. He might have reached the tipping point.

“Why not?” Mark asks, trying to squirm his way into a better position where he can grind against Johnny. “We already know each other, and we used to have fun.”

“Mark,” Johnny says warningly, because the conversation that ended everything was definitely about sex and most assuredly _not_ fun.

“I just -- you know what I mean,” Mark says. “And like, come on, Johnny. I’ve grown up. I’m not the emotionally repressed little boy I used to be.”

There’s a hint of desperation to Mark’s voice, but Johnny can tell it’s not just because Mark wants to get off. It’s almost like he wants to prove something to Johnny, wants Johnny to read between the lines. Maybe Johnny would’ve been good at that two years ago, but there’s been too much time between them for him to pick up the subtext easily. Then again, maybe he was never good at it in the first place.

Mark trails a hand up Johnny’s torso, petting at his abs, his pecs, squeezing his shoulder gently. His hand curls around the back of Johnny’s neck, and Johnny is too weak to resist the tug that brings their lips dangerously close together.

“I haven’t done this with anyone since,” Mark says, and this time, Johnny can hear the subtext loud and clear. Mark didn’t have sex with anyone since Johnny, but he also never had sex with anyone _before_ Johnny either. Some primal part of Johnny stirs at the idea of being the only one Mark’s been with. 

“You’re going to break my heart, Mark Lee,” Johnny breathes against his lips.

“Sorry in advance, then,” Mark replies and tilts his head so they can kiss.

This kiss is different, too. It’s softer, more exploratory than the other kisses they’ve shared. Mark takes his time and Johnny follows his lead. It feels like they’ve been sucked into a little bubble of soft cotton sheets and airy curtains that let in hazy morning Parisian light. Almost like something straight out of Johnny’s dreams. 

Mark’s arms are looped around Johnny’s neck, but one hand moves to weave its way into Johnny’s hair while the other slides down his back, scratching lightly over his t-shirt. Johnny sighs into the feeling, and Mark takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Johnny’s mouth, deepening the kiss without making it feel urgent. There’s none of the dirty, frantic energy from the night before.

“I missed this,” Mark murmurs against his lips. “I missed _you_.”

It hits too close to home. Johnny whimpers softly, pressing one last kiss to Mark’s mouth before pulling back and sitting up. He strips his t-shirt off, satisfied with the way Mark’s eyes go glassy as they roam his body. While he’s preoccupied, Johnny wrestles Mark’s shirt off of him, mussing up his hair so that it sticks up like an odd, thorny halo around his head. It makes Johnny smile. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Mark breathes, running an appreciative hand across Johnny’s abs. He stops at the waistband of Johnny’s underwear, pausing only briefly before he palms over the growing bulge in the front. Johnny groans and rolls his hips into the feeling.

“I didn’t -- I don’t have anything,” he admits, leaning back down to mouth at Mark’s jaw. He shifts so that he can get a hand between them on Mark’s clothed dick as well, not surprised at all to feel he’s fully hard already.

“Well,” Mark chokes out. “Lucky for you, there was a convenience store right next to the coffee shop -- oh!” He sighs as Johnny gets his hand into Mark’s underwear and wraps his hand around Mark’s dick. He’s starting to leak already. Johnny always loved how responsive Mark was in bed; it seems like some things don’t change.

“Tell me you didn’t buy lube at a French convenience store at nine in the morning,” Johnny mutters, biting at Mark’s ear lobe.

“Well, I didn’t steal it.”

Mark laughs when Johnny growls and bites his jaw, but the sound turns into a choked groan when Johnny tightens his grip and twists his wrist on every pass over the head of his dick. “Johnny,” Mark whines. He’s abandoned Johnny’s dick in favour of gripping Johnny’s biceps, like he needs something to tether him to the earth.

“Did you buy condoms too?”

“I told you, I haven’t done this with anyone since you.”

“And you think I haven’t either?”

When Johnny pulls back, Mark is looking up at him, eyes glassy and curious. There’s a momentary flicker of hesitation in his expression. Two weeks ago, Johnny would have been annoyed; he would have been angry that Mark had assumed he wouldn’t have gone out and found someone else to hook up with in the meantime. But maybe Johnny is just that predictable, his heartbreak written too plainly across his face for Mark to think anything else.

“Just for the record, I haven’t slept with anyone else since either,” Johnny says, bending in to whisper in Mark’s ear. “But you shouldn’t be so presumptuous. You have to take care of yourself, Mark Lee. I won’t always be around to look out for you.”

Mark shivers underneath him, arching his back like he’s aching to be touched.

“What do you want?” Johnny asks. He wonders if Mark could go twice this morning, wonders if this is a one-off or if they’ll get an opportunity to do this again later.

“Fuck me,” Mark says, arching into Johnny’s touch. “Fuck, please fuck me. Been so empty.”

Johnny’s brain short-circuits. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that,” he growls. He grabs the elastic of Mark’s underwear and tugs it down his legs, letting Mark kick them off while he works on his own. “Where’s the lube.”

“In the pastry bag,” Mark replies, which earns him a pinch on the thigh. “It’s in it’s own plastic bag! I didn’t contaminate the croissants!”

Johnny turns to find the bag so Mark doesn’t see him smile.

When he’s finally extracted the lube from their breakfast he turns back to find Mark sprawled across the middle of the bed. He’s already got one of the spare pillows propping up his hips and one hand slowly teasing his cock. His lips are red and spit-slick, and Johnny watches Mark bite at them as he tips his head back, panting through the pleasure.

“Should I just let you continue?” he asks, leaning against the edge of the bed. “You look good like this. Maybe I should watch you get yourself off, since you teased me so much last night.”

“No, Johnny, please,” Mark whimpers, but he doesn’t stop touching himself. Johnny crawls back up the bed, tossing the lube next to Mark’s hips and settling on his thighs, just out of reach. 

“You keep asking for me, yet you keep playing with yourself,” Johnny comments. He wants to tease Mark, really drag this out. Punish him for all the time they’ve lost, but Johnny is impatient too. His own cock sits hard and heavy against his thigh; he doesn’t know how much longer he can ignore it. 

“I’ll be good,” Mark says, dropping his hand to the mattress. His cock leaves a sticky smear against his stomach. “I can be good. Hyung.”

Johnny groans, lets himself tip forward so he can kiss the soft, needy noises out of Mark’s mouth. He feels like he shouldn’t be surprised at how easily Mark gives it up to him, lets him control, but it’s so at odds with the Mark Johnny has come to know over the past two years. Snarky and bitter and bratty. The Mark that lies under him now reminds Johnny too much of a sweet, eager boy that Johnny hadn’t seen until Sydney. It makes his head spin.

“Yeah, you’re good, baby,” he murmurs against Mark’s lips. He sits up again and grabs the lube, slicking up his fingers before using his clean hand to nudge one of Mark’s legs up and back.

Mark sighs when Johnny pushes the first finger in, hips rolling minutely like he’s trying to work Johnny in further. He presses one hand up against the padded headboard for leverage, the other pulling tightly at his own hair. 

“Did you finger yourself last night?” Johnny asks, beginning to pump his finger in and out. The slide is fairly easy, and he thinks about his fantasies from the night before.

“Uh huh,” Mark moans, chasing Johnny’s finger every time he draws it back. “Wanted it to be you.”

“Dirty,” Johnny mutters. He grabs the lube again, coats his fingers, and slips two back into Mark. The stretch is more intense now, but Mark swallows him up. “How many fingers did you use?”

“Just two,” Mark replies. “Angle is -- too weird to try and do more.”

Johnny bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He can picture Mark, whining in the shower trying to twist three fingers into himself and failing. 

“Good thing I’m here to help you out now,” he says, pushing a third finger into Mark.

Mark moans, this deep, guttural sound. His rim flutters around Johnny’s fingers, like it’s too much, but Johnny knows how much Mark can take. He pets a hand over Mark’s thigh, shifts so he can sling Mark’s leg over his shoulder. It sinks his fingers in deeper, so he twists them, curls them until -

“Ah!” Mark shouts, hips jumping and pushing back all at once. “Hyung.”

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Johnny says. He kisses Mark’s knee and begins a steady rhythm with his fingers, making sure to glance across Mark’s prostate every once in a while. 

Mark’s making a lot of noise now: breathy whines and soft whimpers and needy words whispered out into the air between them. He’s always been talkative, brain-to-mouth filter often offline, and in bed he’s no different. Johnny revels in the way Mark begs to be taken apart, begs for relief, begs for _Johnny_. 

“Are you ready?” Johnny asks, stilling his fingers. He slides his thumb over Mark’s perineum, making Mark whine. “Or do you want to come like this first?”

Mark bites his lip. He’s flushed all the way down his chest, hair sweaty and matted to his forehead. He looks dazed, like the pleasure is too overwhelming. “Take the edge off,” he says after a moment. “I can go for longer after.”

“You won’t be too sensitive?” Johnny asks, bending a little so he can bite at the meat of Mark’s thigh. Mark groans.

“You know I like it,” Mark replies. “And I know you’ll stop if it gets too much.”

There’s part of Johnny that wishes he could be a little more greedy, a little more petty, but even after all the hurt and resentment, he’d never want to hurt Mark. Not like this, at least.

“Okay,” Johnny says, pulling his fingers back before picking up the pace, upping the force. “Your call, baby.”

Mark sighs. He tips his head back against the pillows, the hand in his hair coming down to grip his cock again. This time, Johnny doesn’t reprimand him, just keeps a steady rhythm with his fingers, trying his best to hit Mark’s prostate every once in a while.

“Fuck, Johnny,” Mark slurs, using his hand braced against the headboard to push back against Johnny’s fingers. “‘M close.”

“Come on, Mark,” Johnny says. “Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

With a soft cry, Mark spills across his belly. He clenches tightly around Johnny’s fingers, body shifting with the intensity of his orgasm. Johnny uses his free hand to pet across Mark’s hip, presses more soft kisses to his knee while rubbing his thumb against Mark’s perineum until Mark is shaking and pressing his foot into Johny’s shoulder, trying to get him to back off for a minute.

“Fuck, come here,” Mark says, reaching out for Johnny once Johnny’s pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. He crawls up Mark’s body, settling his weight on top of him when Mark pulls him in for a kiss.

“Was it good?” Johnny asks between kisses. 

“Couldn’t you tell?” Mark nips at Johnny’s bottom lip, sucks on it to take away the sting. “Nobody knows me like you do, hyung.”

That dark, possessive feeling claws at Johnny’s stomach again. It shouldn’t matter that Mark’s never been with anyone else; he doesn’t _want_ it to matter.

They make out for a little longer, until the ache in Johnny’s dick gets too unbearable. He ruts down against the jut of Mark’s hip, sighing at the way it slides from the precome he’s leaking. Mark snickers, kissing Johnny’s cheek before reaching out blindly for the lube. “Kay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. He’s always surprised by how quickly Mark can shift personalities during sex, going from confident and clear-headed to fucked out and delirious at the snap of his fingers. “You sure?” he asks, even as he’s taking the lube from Mark’s hand to slick up his cock.

“Yeah, yeah, want you,” Mark babbles. He goes to hook his leg around Johnny’s hip and bring him in closer, but Johnny pauses with a hand against Mark’s belly, next to where his cock is starting to fill out again.

“Flip over,” he says.

Mark frowns. “You don’t want it like this?”

“Flip over,” Johnny repeats. 

The frown doesn’t slide off Mark’s face even though he obeys and rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his hands and knees. 

Johnny knows it’s an odd request from him. He used to tell Mark his favourite position was missionary because he liked seeing Mark’s face, but now the opposite is true. Johnny doesn’t think he can stand watching Mark’s expression as he gets fucked, doesn’t want to see something that might make him hopeful. Doesn’t want to _not_ see something, something that might crush his heart. This is better. More impersonal. 

Johnny grips Mark’s hip with one hand and uses the other to line himself up against Mark’s hole. He teases, just for a moment, lets the head slide against the slick lube that coats the rim, until Mark is whining and pushing back. Finally, Johnny lets himself take.

Despite the prep and the lube, the slide isn’t easy. Mark is tense, the line of his back ramrod straight, shoulders hunched by his ears. His breathing has gone heavy, soft panting noises that he tries to muffle against the pillow. Johnny reaches out and tugs on his hair, lest he suffocate himself. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, rocking in a little deeper. He eases in inch by inch.

“Fuck, you’re just -- big,” Mark says wetly. He arches his back, trying to find a better angle. “And it’s been a long time.”

Johnny isn’t sure if Mark means it’s been awhile since Johnny’s fucked him or if he means it’s been a while in general. He doesn’t know what Mark gets up to in his spare time, what he might’ve purchased after finally learning how to shop online. 

“Are you too sensitive?” Johnny asks. “It’s always so much right after you come.”

Mark whines. He manages to tug his hair out of Johnny’s grip and buries his face back in the pillow.

“It’s a lot,” he says, muffled. “But it’s so good. You feel so good, filling me up.”

Johnny sighs. He pushes in the last inch until he’s flush against Mark. “There you go, baby,” he whispers, running a hand up Mark’s flank and along his side. He retraces his path, detours his hand under Mark’s body to find his dick has flagged. Johnny tsks. “Let’s get you back on track, hmm?” he asks.

The noise that punches out of Mark sounds desperate. His hips jolt, pushing forward into the circle of Johnny’s hand before stuttering back, oversensitive, into the weight of Johnny’s cock. He moans, the sensory overload clearly overwhelming. Johnny loves it.

“There you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss behind Mark’s ear. He rocks his hips gently, trying his best to keep a firm grip on Mark’s cock while propping himself on his free hand. Mark takes some of his weight, but Johnny doesn’t want to crush him. Not yet.

It only takes a moment before Mark loosens a little around him, stops being quite so unbearably tight and starts to relax. His dick fills again, sitting hot and heavy in Johnny’s palm before he lets go in favour of sitting up on his knees and grabbing Mark’s hips.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Johnny,” Mark moans. “Hyung, fuck me. Please.”

Johnny starts to move, sets an easy rhythm for himself that has him sliding in and out of Mark’s body at a moderate pace, but has him pressing all the way in, punching little hiccups out of Mark each time he’s fully seated. 

“You feel so good,” Johnny says. He can’t help but run his mouth. “You look amazing.”

Mark just moans, the sound cracking down the middle on a particularly hard thrust from Johnny. “Faster,” he breathes, so Johnny picks up the pace.

Maybe it’s the setting, or the position, but Johnny can’t help but notice how different this moment is from all the other times he and Mark have had sex. They’re in Paris, the City of Love, and while they should be out exploring and seeing the city, they’re inside, instead. Having sex like it’s not the worst idea Johnny has succumbed to on this trip, including going on the trip itself.

He shuts his eyes against the unbidden thoughts. Even if he knows the outcome won’t be pretty, he doesn’t regret this. How can he when he has Mark under him, around him, again? He just wants to savour the moment.

“Mark,” Johnny grunts, upping the pace. Mark replies with a punched out moan. “Are you close, baby?”

“Hyung,” Mark sobs. “Want -- want to feel you.”

Johnny doesn’t trust himself to keep himself from crushing Mark if he leans forward, so instead he hauls Mark up, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist while the other bars him across the chest, keeps their bodies flushed tight together. Mark sobs again when he sinks down on Johnny’s cock, takes him in deeper than before.

“Oh, oh,” he moans.

Johnny can’t go as fast in this position, but he hits deeper, and from the sound of the loud, “ah, ah, ah,” noises streaming from Mark’s mouth, it’s better this way. From experience, he’s certain he must be hitting Mark’s prostate on almost every thrust.

Johnny can feel his own orgasm building. His grip on Mark’s hip must be bruising. “Mark,” he warns. 

“Hyung, I’m close, I’m close,” Mark whimpers. 

“Yeah?” Johnny asks breathlessly. “Touch yourself, baby. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Mark’s hand brushes against his forearm with every stroke of his cock. He’s whining near constantly now, a steady stream of noise, like he can’t help the sounds that spill out of him. Like it’s too much, too overwhelming. 

“Mark,” Johnny says again. “Mark, Mark.”

Mark comes with a sob, back arching against the restraint of Johnny’s body, hips stuttering against how sensitive he feels. He slumps after, like a puppet with his strings cut, exhausted and spent from two orgasms.

“Johnny,” he slurs. “Are you gonna -- are you gonna come in me?”

“Do you want me to, baby?” Johnny grunts. He’s so close, and the fluttering of Mark’s hole around him is helping immensely. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah, please,” Mark says. “Missed you.”

Johnny moans, ducks his head so he can mouth wetly at Mark’s shoulder. It only takes a few more hard thrusts before Johnny’s coming too, body shaking through it. 

He feels drained. Physically and emotionally. Mark looks no better, eyes glazed over and slack-jawed. He whines when Johnny pulls out of him, goes pliantly when Johnny tips him onto a drier part of the bed. Johnny watches with tired but interested eyes as his come leaks slowly out of Mark’s stretched hole.

“Come here,” Mark rasps, reaching out for Johnny, but Johnny shakes his head. 

“Let me get a cloth, first,” he says, going to climb off the bed.

“Hyung!” Mark exclaims, sounding more alert and slightly panicked. Johnny raises an eyebrow at him and Mark’s mouth pinches.

“Fine,” Johnny acquiesces, settling on the bed. Mark immediately curls into him. For all the show he makes of hating skinship on camera, Mark is especially cuddly post-sex. Johnny’s never minded. “Five minutes, then I’m getting a cloth before we get all tacky and gross.”

“You’re tacky and gross,” Mark mutters. He’s already half asleep.

“Whatever you say, Markie,” Johnny replies. A moment later, Mark’s breathing has evened out, soft puffs of air against the cooling sweat on Johnny’s chest.

Johnny cards his hand through Mark’s hair. It’s damp and tangled and will look absolutely crazy later. He stares at the ceiling and tries to reconcile what he’s done and what he told himself he wouldn’t do again.

Technically, Johnny never told himself to never have sex with Mark again. It wasn’t really a thought that had ever crossed his mind. What he did tell himself was to never fall in love with Mark again, and Johnny isn’t sure if he’s managed to keep that promise.

It’s not just the sex. The sex was good. It always has been. But the intimacy of it stirred something in Johnny. Something about being able to come back together with Mark like this, like they’ve had no time apart, makes Johnny’s heart race. The fact that Mark hasn’t sought anyone else to fuck in the two years they’ve been at each other’s throats makes his heart vibrate with anticipation. The idea that this may all just be a throwaway, a one-time thing, is what gets Johnny’s heart aching.

He knows he’s a sucker. He’ll take whatever Mark is willing to give him, but he’s not sure what that is yet. They need to talk, and this time, Johnny won’t be swayed by Mark’s starry eyes and soft smile. This time, Johnny will get answers.

He falls asleep before his allotted five minutes, the washcloth long forgotten.

Johnny does not get his answers. Not right away, at least.

The coffee is cold when they wake up, but the croissants are still good, if not squished a little from the lube. They eat their breakfast in front of the big French doors where the bright summer sunshine filters through. 

Mark looks more relaxed than Johnny’s seen this trip so far. He can see it in the set of his shoulders, the languid way Mark leans back against one arm while sipping his coffee. There’s a soft smile on his lips every time Johnny talks, and his eyes are hooded and sleepy looking behind his glasses. 

He looks like a dream.

When the coffee is finished and the croissants are demolished, Mark crawls into Johnny’s lap and kisses him, chases away the bitterness of the coffee with the sweetness of his lips. Johnny had wanted to talk after breakfast, but he soon finds himself flat on his back on the bed, Mark riding him with an expertise that can only be honed through years of moving their bodies across stages.

Johnny has every intention of talking with Mark about whatever the fuck is happening, but it’s almost like they spend their third day in Paris existing in a dream. When they’re not having sex, they’re napping, and the only time Johnny puts on pants that day is to run out and find them something to eat for lunch. They order room service for dinner.

That night, Johnny lets himself curl around Mark’s body, fitting himself snugly to Mark’s back. He’d managed to wring one last orgasm out of Mark, and as much as he’d like to keep going well into the night, his body has some limitations. Mark had fallen asleep almost immediately.

Johnny traces a finger across the defined lines of Mark’s torso, drags it back up to stroke across his cheek. There’s a reality dawning on them much too quickly, but Johnny can’t bring himself to care. Not yet. For now, his heart is still intact, and he’ll revel in that for as long as he can.

They finally make it out of bed the next day to go see the Eiffel Tower. Johnny’s not sure what he expected to change between them, but nothing really does. Mark is still his usual, affable self, but it’s almost like his edges have been softened. Johnny hadn’t been aware that Mark had been carrying so much tension still, but to see him so relaxed and carefree makes Johnny wonder what Mark was still holding on to. What he finally let go.

He holds Johnny’s hand more now, too. Johnny doesn’t mind, even though their palms quickly get sweaty in the sweltering summer heat. It’s a casual intimacy that they’ve never really been afforded before, and he revels in how free they are to just -- be themselves.

“How high up do you want to go?” Johnny asks when they get to the tower. There’s a long line for tickets, but it’s not like they’re going anywhere else today. They’ve got no plans.

Mark tips his head back, resting it against Johnny’s shoulder. “Uh.”

“There’s three levels,” Johnny says, interpreting the pictures on the sign. “There’s the first level, the medium, and then the one at the very top.”

Mark bounces on the balls of his feet, rocks back and forth for a moment while he’s contemplating. Johnny immediately figures out what’s going through his head. “We don’t have to go all the way to the top,” he says gently, squeezing Mark’s hand.

“But you want to,” Mark points out. 

“Yeah, but not if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

Mark fidgets, his fingers tapping an indiscernible rhythm against the back of Johnny’s hand. Finally, he says, “We can just stop if it gets too much, right?”

The wording immediately takes Johnny back to their hotel room, Mark spread across the sheets, five orgasms on the day and slurring his words. It makes a blush creep up Johnny’s neck, and judging by the impish grin on Mark’s face, it was the desired effect.

“You’re a menace,” Johnny mutters. 

When they finally make it up to the front of the line, Johnny buys them two tickets that will allow them to go all the way up to the top of the tower. “Enjoy at your leisure,” the attendant says in heavily accented English.

“Merci,” Mark chirps happily, bouncing over to the elevator that will take them up to the first level.

The first observation deck has a wide open terrace and a smattering of restaurants and stores. Johnny’s surprised by how room there is to move around. Mark drags him over to one of the railings almost immediately, making appreciative noises at the view of Paris.

“You doing okay?” Johnny asks, untangling their finger so he can wrap his arm around Mark’s waist.

“We’re not _that_ high up yet,” Mark says, though he turns into Johnny’s chest, curling in close. “This is pretty cool.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we got outside today, Markie,” Johnny says. He kisses Mark’s temple, which just makes Mark snicker.

They wander around the tower to get a view of the entire city. Mark tries to find their hotel, which is difficult when all the buildings look exactly the same.

“I don’t think you’re even looking in the right direction,” Johnny points out as he examines the map on his phone.

“Well, I can’t tell!” Mark exclaims. “There’s hardly any distinguishing features or landmarks to look for.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re standing on the landmark,” Johnny says with a laugh.

He coaxes Mark up to the second floor with the promise of lunch and souvenirs on their way back down. Surprisingly, there’s more shops and restaurants on this level too.

“Hyung, look,” Mark says, tugging Johnny towards one of the shops. “This one is full of mini Eiffel Towers.”

“Eiffel Tower inception,” Johnny replies. Mark’s laugh is bright as he drags Johnny inside.

Johnny ends up buying himself a little replica while Mark tries to choose between several little gifts for a variety of people. 

“Mark, I can promise you Donghyuck doesn’t need an Eiffel Tower replica,” Johnny says. “He’s been to Paris before.”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t been _here_ and I think he’d be really jealous,” Mark replies. Johnny rolls his eyes and gently puts the tiny tower Mark had been holding back on the shelf. “Buy this one for Renjun,” he says, plucking a snow globe off the top shelf and handing it to Mark. 

Mark shakes the globe and spends a moment watching the snow settle. He says, “Fine. But if Hyuckie complains about the lack of a gift, I’m going to blame it on you.”

“Sure,” Johnny says easily. “Whatever you want.”

They pay for their gifts and circle the observation deck once before Johnny is ushering Mark towards the elevator. Mark hesitates only for a moment, heels digging into the metal before his feet seem to take over from his brain. He lets Johnny herd him into the elevator, and then they’re going up.

The view from the top of the tower takes Johnny’s breath away. They’re inside, but there’s one more open-air observation deck above them. “Let’s go up,” Johnny says before Mark can say much else, and drags him up and out into the open air.

Paris looks tiny from here. There’s no noise, just the wind buffeting them and the chatter of the other tourists. No traffic, no cars honking. Just … air. Johnny immediately fumbles for his film camera, fitting the lens between the fencing to get a few unobstructed shots.

He gets caught up in it, the feeling of being so high above the city that he feels untouchable, like every worry he’s had over the past couple days has been swept away by the wind. It’s a liberating feeling.

“Hyung?”

Mark’s tentative voice snaps Johnny out of his reverie. He turns to find Mark hovering tentatively next to the stairs still, eyes wide and nervous looking. His hands are twisted together, fingers twitching every once in a while, like the grip they have on each other still isn’t enough to keep them contained.

“Do you want to come over and see the view?”

Mark takes a step forward, then pauses. He retraces his step, bites his lip, shakes his head.

Johnny’s heart melts. He can’t help it. Carefully, he recaps the lens on his camera and makes his way back to where Mark is trying not to be in the way of some tourists who are heading back down to other parts of the tower.

“I think I’m good over here, hyung,” Mark comments. He shivers with a gust of wind. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to look,” Johnny says, reaching out to brush some of the hair off of Mark’s forehead. He lets his hand trail down to cup Mark’s cheek. Mark immediately nuzzles into the touch, tension unraveling off of him like a spool of thread. “But I think you’d like the view, Markie.”

Mark sighs, a warm puff of air against Johnny’s forearm. “You really know how to get me, Johnny Suh,” he says. He reaches up to lace their fingers together before marching them back over to the edge of the viewing platform. “Oh,” he says, when he steps up to the fencing.

“Cool, right?” Johnny asks. He shuffles around another tourist so he can stand behind Mark and wrap his arms around Mark’s waist, keeping him close. Grounding him. Mark melts into the touch, but when his hands settle on top of Johnny’s, they’re curled tight, gripping at Johnny’s knuckles.

“Y-yeah, cool,” Mark stutters. 

Johnny smiles against his hair, presses another kiss against his temple. “Thanks for being brave,” he whispers. Mark shudders in his arms.

They don’t stand at the edge for very long. Eventually, Mark twists around in Johnny’s embrace to hide, and Johnny takes pity on him so he leads them back to the indoor portion of the deck. They spend some time reading the information cards before they descend to the first level so Mark can pick up even more trinkets for all their friends at home.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Johnny says with a laugh when he takes a look at all the things Mark’s holding. “No one else wants a mini Eiffel Tower, Mark, I swear.” He goes to put one of Mark’s collection back on the shelf, but Mark snatches it back.

“That one’s for me,” he whines. It’s a plain, bronze coloured tower, nothing special about it really, but it suits Mark. Simple in design, but extraordinary in real life. Adored by millions. Johnny smiles at it.

“I’ll buy it for you,” he says.

Mark eyes him warily. “Maybe I should pick a more expensive souvenir for myself,” he jokes. Johnny just rolls his eyes. 

“See if I ever buy you a gift again,” Johnny says.

This time, Mark is the one to roll his eyes. “Whatever you say, hyung,” he says, like he knows Johnny won’t be able to resist Mark’s requests for more small trinkets in the future.

He’s right, though. Johnny hands over a handful of Euros to the cashier. At this point, he’d give Mark the world just to keep him for a little bit longer.

They spend the rest of the day cafe hopping and wandering around the streets of Paris. After dinner, they fall back into bed and into each other. Mark sucks Johnny’s dick until he sees stars, so Johnny returns the favour by fucking Mark on his fingers until Mark is crying. This time, Johnny gets them a washcloth.

“Tomorrow’s our last day,” Mark murmurs when they’re tucked into bed later. He’s curled around Johnny like a particularly affectionate cat. “Then it’s off to Chicago.”

Johnny’s always loved going home, but for the first time ever, he feels sad to be leaving. Paris has been magical, has given him back something that he never thought he’d have again. Leaving the city might mean leaving behind whatever they have as well.

“Go to sleep, Mark,” Johnny says, kissing the top of Mark’s head. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mark says around a yawn. A moment later he’s drifted off.

Johnny wishes he could stay awake longer, revel in the feeling of having Mark treat whatever they’re doing together like -- like dating. It’s so close to what they could have had, but this time it’s Johnny who’s being left in the dark. 

He’s been so easygoing this leg of the trip, has told himself he’ll talk to Mark about whatever they’re doing, and then been too cowardly to go through with it. It’s been too easy to get caught up in Mark, which is a dangerous place to be for Johnny. 

_Tomorrow,_ he thinks. _Tomorrow, we talk._

They get their opportunity to talk after dinner the next day.

The morning is spent lounging in bed, much to Johnny’s protesting. He wants to go out and explore the city a little more before they have to leave, but Mark keeps looking at him with sultry bedroom eyes, so they don’t manage to stumble out of the room until 10 o’clock. Then they have to find breakfast, and then they finally head off. 

They go to the Champs-Élysées first, mainly because it’s iconic and Johnny wants to take some pictures. He doesn’t really need to spend 1000 dollars on a jacket, but he does catch Mark eyeing something in Chanel’s window.

“Do you want it?” he asks Mark, nodding towards the red jacket in the window.

“What?” Mark asks, clearly surprised. “Hyung, don’t. That’s super expensive.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s almost your birthday,” he points out. At the end of the week, Mark will turn 23. 

“Okay, sure, but you don’t have to buy me a jacket like that,” Mark says, dragging Johnny away from the window. “That thing probably costs, like, as much as our hotel stay.”

Johnny laughs. “Sure. But if not that, what do you want for your birthday, then?”

Mark shrugs. They wander past more high-end stores. “It doesn’t matter,” he says after a moment. “If it’s with you, it doesn’t matter.”

Johnny coos and slings an arm over Mark’s shoulder. “You’re cute,” he tells Mark.

“Thanks,” Mark replies. “Come on, I think there’s a gigantic shopping mall around here somewhere.” 

They take the metro out to the Galeries Lafayette, where they decide to split up.

“Hyung, I’m hungry,” Mark whines when they enter. It’s not a mall, but a large department store, Johnny discovers. 

“You’re fully capable of feeding yourself,” Johnny points out, scanning the directory near the doors.

“Yeah, but - “

“Let’s split up for an hour,” Johnny suggests. “We can meet here again?”

“You trying to get rid of me?” Mark asks suspiciously. His stomach rumbles audibly.

“I just think it’d be a more efficient use of our time,” Johnny suggests, then adds, “And I’m gonna find you a birthday present, so scram.”

Mark grins at him, wide and pleased. He bounces up on his toes, presses a kiss to Johnny’s cheek, and skips off in the direction of one of the eateries on the map. Johnny just sighs and shakes his head.

He wasn’t lying about wanting to find Mark a gift, now that the idea is in his mind, but he also wanted a little bit of space. Johnny feels like his head is full of Mark Lee, and it’s not a great place to be when he’s trying to not fall head-over-heels for him again. 

He’s wandering through the men’s floor when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Briefly, Johnny wonders if it’s Mark, lost or in trouble somewhere, but he’s surprised to see Yuta’s name flash up on the screen instead.

“Was there, like, a five step plan from Taeyong to check in on us every once in a while?” Johnny asks in lieu of greeting.

“Actually, yes,” Yuta replies, “but we thought it was a little invasive so we’ve cut back the number of phone calls to once a week. Except on Mark’s birthday. Then we’ll all call.”

Johnny barks out a laugh that has some people turning their heads at him. He snickers and ducks into a display of paisley shirts. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Yuta replies. “Same old, same old. How’s the trip? You sound -- happy.”

“I’m in Paris, what’s there not to be happy about?” Johnny asks.

“Well, a little birdie told me that you and Mark kissed and made up, but I wasn’t sure if Haechannie was just saying that to be a shit or if I should believe him or not.”

Johnny chokes on an inhale. “Kissed and made up?”

“Isn’t that what you English people say?” Yuta asks. “Does it not work well in Korean?”

For a brief moment, Johnny wonders if Mark called Donghyuck back that day in the botanical gardens in Sydney, if he’d told Donghyuck about what’s been growing between them. Hell, Mark could be talking to Donghyuck right now, the information passing from their maknae to Yuta.

“It’s fine,” Johnny says after a moment of panicking. “And we’re fine too.”

“Really,” Yuta drawls. 

“Yeah, really, man. We’re alive and friendly and, actually, I’m trying to find something for Mark’s birthday. Do you have any ideas?”

Yuta laughs. “Dude, you go away for two weeks and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. When you guys left you looked like you wanted to murder Mark and dump his body in the ocean or something. Now you’re all buddy-buddy?”

“I mean, we kind of talked some things through,” Johnny says.

“Some things?”

“Like, not really about what happened, but how we want to get back to being friends again.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Johnny wonders if Yuta hung up on him. “You guys haven’t talked about what’s happened yet?” Yuta asks finally. 

“Uh, no,” Johnny replies. “I think -- Well, I guess I figured if we talked about it too soon into this whole friendship rebuilding thing we’d just blow ourselves up again. I feel like we’re a little bit more level-headed now.”

Yuta sighs. Johnny can practically picture him shaking his head. “You guys are ridiculous,” he mutters, then adds, “Make you sure you do that, Johnny. I will not have my baby returned to me broken-hearted.”

“What?” Johnny asks, stopping in the middle of the clothing racks. “Why would he be broken-hearted?”

“I find it hard to believe you haven’t figured that out yet,” Yuta replies. “I know Mark’s a bit obtuse, but I didn’t think you’d be so stubborn you wouldn’t be able to see the truth behind all those hurtful words two years ago.”

Johnny bites his lip. He doesn’t want to get angry in the middle of the mall, and especially not at Yuta, but he hates how these conversations have been going, like he’s not as much of a victim in this as Mark is. “You’re not cute when you pry into other peoples’ business,” he hisses. “Are you going to insult me more or are we good?”

Yuta sighs again. “Come home soon,” he says. “I miss you guys. I miss fighting with you in person, Johnny.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Bye, Yuta.”

“Remember what I said, Johnny. Talk to Mark before the end of the trip,” Yuta says, and then hangs up.

Johnny shoves his phone back into his pocket angrily, but not before seeing he’s only got half an hour left to find something for Mark. He wanders the racks angrily, pausing when he passes by a red military themed jacket. It’s not really Mark’s style, but it’s close to the one he had looked at in the window. Johnny rifles through the selections until he finds Mark’s size. By the time he’s done paying for the jacket, he has just enough time to meet Mark back at the entry.

“Find something?” Mark asks, eyeing Johnny’s bag. 

“For you,” Johnny says, “but I didn’t really have time to shop for myself.”

Mark groans. “How much time do you need?” he asks, but he’s already dragging his feet in the direction of the men’s department.

Johnny laughs. “Baby, we’ll be here all day,” he says, the anger from his conversation with Yuta already dissipating, even if his warnings linger.

Between the shopping and the eating, it’s hard to get a word in otherwise. Johnny tries to reign himself in, keep himself from falling deeper into the black hole of feelings that takes up residence in his heart. 

“I don’t know how to pack,” Mark complains when they get back to their room that night. “I have so many souvenirs.”

“I told you you were going to have an issue with that,” Johnny points out. His problem is going to be clothes; he’d bought a number of things at the Galeries Lafayette in the afternoon. He wonders where they might be able to buy a third suitcase at this late hour.

“Yeah, I was really confident about getting everything home after I gave your parents their gifts, but now I’m wondering how I’m supposed to get everything _to_ Chicago,” Mark says, giggling. 

Johnny watches him struggle with his suitcase for a moment before he goes back to packing his own. He can get everything in, but it might come out a little wrinkly on the other side. It’s fine; his mom owns an iron he can borrow if he really needs it.

The soft summer light that streams in through their window fades as the sun sinks below their row of buildings. It reminds Johnny of the pictures he’d taken of Mark the day they’d stayed in. Mark sitting on the balcony with sex-tussled hair and hooded eyes. Mark kneeling on the bed, dwarfed in Johnny’s t-shirt and nothing else. Mark sprawled across the bed, staring coyly at the camera.

“Mark,” he calls, zipping his suitcase half closed. There’s just enough room in it tomorrow for his toiletries.

“Yeah?”

“I think -- can we talk?”

The sound of rustling paper stops as Mark sets down one of his souvenirs. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he says. “About -- ?”

“You know what about,” Johnny says tiredly. He pulls himself up off the floor and sits on the edge of the bed so he can face Mark. “We have to talk about the sex.”

Mark’s face pinches. “I mean, I had a good time, but if you want to stop we can. But I think that it’s been good for us and -- “

“Mark,” Johnny says, cutting off Mark’s rambling. “Why.”

“Why did I want to have sex with you?”

“Sure,” Johnny says, frustrated. “And why did you ask to kiss me? What do you think is going to happen between us? You said you wanted to be friends but this is a little bit more friendly than I was thinking. Unless you’re following the same definition you did two years ago.”

Mark’s expression turns stormy. “I’m better than that now,” he says. He’s standing at the edge of the bed opposite Johnny.

“Yeah?” Johnny asks. He can feel the tension in the room, feels it crawling over his skin like tiny bolts of lighting running up and down his arms. “How is this any better than me thinking we were dating and in love only for you to turn around and tell me you weren’t gay and you didn’t like guys?”

Because that’s the crux of it. Two years ago, Johnny had made breakfast in bed for Mark and had kissed him silly across the sheets of his own bed, and had said, “I think I’m in love with you,” and Mark had said, “I’m not gay, Johnny.”

Two years ago, Johnny had said, “I don’t know about you, but having sex with a guy is pretty gay, Mark.”

And two years ago, Johnny had told Mark to get over himself, to forget about what other people thought and ignore the pressures from outside because they could have _this_. They could be a couple. They could beat the odds. 

Even now, Johnny can still remember the way Mark had trembled, the way he had insisted that he wasn’t gay, that he couldn’t date a guy, that it was _wrong_ and how it had felt to have his heart break right in half because of it.

“Johnny -- “ Mark starts. It brings Johnny back to the present, to the situation they’re in and how it’s playing out exactly like it had when they were less experienced and more stupid. Johnny can’t believe they’re in this mess again.

“How is this any different?” he says, cutting Mark off. “The whole time we’ve been in Paris has been like one giant date. We spent an entire day in bed. But you don’t want to talk about it. Every time I’ve asked you’ve dragged me back into bed for another round.”

“You could’ve said no!” Mark exclaims, anger clear as anything in his expression. He leans forward on the bed, palms pressing indents into the newly turned sheets. “You could’ve said no at any point but you’re selfish and you took it because it was there.”

The words feel like a slap to the face, mostly because they’re true. Johnny could’ve -- _should've_ \-- said no. He should’ve put his foot down and told Mark to stop, that they should talk, but he never did. He wanted it too badly.

“You still haven’t told me why,” Johnny points out, trying his best to bury the pain. “Couldn’t find anyone else to push you down into the mattress to fuck you so you came crawling back to me?”

Johnny feels the slap of Mark’s palm on his cheek before he even registers that Mark’s closed the space between him. It’s not hard, but it still stings, and when he turns his head forward again he’s surprised to see a teary-eyed Mark staring back at him.

“You always said I was the mean one,” Mark says, voice watery and wavering. “Always complained to everyone else about how sarcastic and snarky I was, but you were always meaner than me, hyung. You turned your back on me and never looked back.”

Johnny blinks and then he’s on his feet. He’s backed Mark into the wall before he realizes it, one hand reaching down to squeeze the wrist of the hand Mark used to hit him. If the only way they’re going to talk is angrily, Johnny will take it. The powder keg has been set ablaze.

“Tell me again how I’m the one in the wrong,” he hisses. Mark turns his head, squeezes his eyes shut against Johnny’s hard, angry gaze. “Tell me how I’m the bad guy. You broke my fucking heart, Mark Lee. Screamed at me, yelled at me, told me what we had was wrong because we were both men. Do you know what it feels like to be told that one of the most important, vital parts of you is an abomination? Do you know what it feels like to hit rock bottom because of the person you’re desperately in love with?”

Mark sobs. He twists in Johnny’s grip, trying to escape, but Johnny presses more of his body weight into Mark until he’s immobilized.

“Let go,” Mark cries.

“Tell me first,” Johnny says, though he loosens his grip on Mark’s wrist until he can’t feel the bones grind together under his fingers. “Fucking talk to me.”

Mark shudders. Johnny can feel his chest rising and falling, pressing against his own with each inhale. Finally, Mark turns his head.

His eyes are rimmed red, tears trailing down his cheeks, but there’s a cruelty to his eyes that Johnny hasn’t seen in two weeks. Maybe longer. It’s been ages since Johnny’s seen quite the level of anger that Mark’s managed to work himself up to. 

“What I said was inconsiderate, and I know it really fucked you up,” Mark says, laughing bitterly. “And I’m really sorry about that. Really, truly. I tried to apologize to you but you brushed me off. You were so mad because you caught me watching gay porn, weren’t you? Because I could find it in myself to watch others, but I wouldn’t do it with you anymore. And then after that, any time I tried to talk to you you refused to give me the time of day. It made me so mad, and then it was even harder to say sorry. I’m saying it now, though. I’m sorry, Johnny, I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s waited for this apology for years, and yet, it doesn’t feel satisfying. He can tell Mark is sincere, but he hates the reminder of catching Mark watching that porn, hates the idea that Mark could have told him he wasn’t okay because he liked men and yet satisfied himself by watching the very thing that he found so disgusting.

“What changed?” Johnny sneers. Mark turns his head and Johnny reaches up and wrenches him by the chin so they’re eye to eye. Even despite the tears, Mark looks fierce and angry. “What made you decide you could finally stomach being around me again?”

Mark laughs derisively. “What changed?” he asks. “ _I_ changed, Johnny. I had so much shit to work through and I bet you never once -- not in two years -- stopped to think about what the fuck was going on in my head all that time.” He tips his head back against the wall, revealing the long line of his throat. Mark’s bronzed all over now from all the time they’ve spent in the summer sun, no longer the pale boy that left Korea two weeks ago.

“I grew up in a family that told me one day I was going to meet a nice girl and settle down and have a family. My community told me that liking boys was a sin, and eventually, the world news told me that in some places, being gay was a crime. So take your head out of your ass for one goddamn minute and imagine what it felt like to suddenly realize that you are in love with a boy when you’re not allowed to be.”

There are tears streaming down Mark’s face, but his eyes are challenging. Johnny feels the breath stutter in his throat.

“I pushed you away because I was scared, because I didn’t want to be gay because I didn’t understand that I _could_ be. I needed someone to show me that, and I needed it to be you, but you didn’t come back. You didn’t want me.”

It feels almost surreal, to hear the words come out of Mark’s mouth: _you didn’t want me_. Like Johnny had ever stopped wanting to be around Mark, be with Mark, be _Mark’s_. But that’s what it looked like. It looked like Johnny took the first sign of trouble and ran.

“So, yes. I do know what it’s like to feel like I’m an abomination because of who I like, and I know what it feels like to be made to feel that way because of the person I’m in love with.”

Johnny finally steps back. He feels shaky all over, like the very root of who he is has been bulldozed. The words come out of his mouth unbidden, voice devoid of all emotion: “You still haven’t told me why.”

Mark’s laugh is cruel and cold. He pushes at Johnny’s shoulder until Johnny’s knees hit the bed and he sinks down onto it.

“I’m selfish, too,” Mark says, kneeling on the carpet in front of Johnny. Johnny refuses to meet his eye. “How could I contain myself when I’m in the most beautiful city with the most beautiful boy? How could I convince myself that this was a bad idea when I love you so much?”

This, at least, makes Johnny look up. “You love me?” he asks. Mark had never admitted to as much when they were younger. Johnny knows why, now, but it doesn’t mean Mark never said it for other reasons either. Maybe he never loved Johnny then, either.

“Of course I do,” Mark says. It comes out resigned, like a fate unhappily accepted. “I always have. Even when we were the absolute worst to each other. I kept annoying you just to be around you, and now we’re here.”

Johnny can see the way the fight leaves Mark, like confessing broke something inside of him. 

It suddenly all feels like too much. He’s standing on a precipice, feeling much like he had that fateful night two years ago. On that night, when Mark had told him the opposite, told him he couldn’t be with Johnny because being with a man was _wrong_ , Mark had walked out the door. He had left Johnny to his anger and his heartbreak. Johnny had stood, alone in his room, desperately hoping Mark would come back. But he hadn’t, and Johnny had never gone looking for him.

He knows it’s not the right thing to do, but Johnny can’t handle all the emotions running through him. Hurt, anger, a desperate longing that pierces him right through the middle until he can’t breathe. He stands, sending Mark sprawling to the floor.

“I have to go,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He grabs his phone off the desk, pats his pockets for his wallet, and shoves his feet in his shoes.

Mark shakes his head quickly, like he’s dazed, and gets to his feet. “What?” he asks. “Wait, Johnny. Don’t.” He looks panicked, and Johnny knows it’s because he had hoped. Mark has always been cautiously optimistic; Johnny thinks it’s naive of him to think that this could play out like a fairytale, just because they’re in a magical city.

“I can’t do this right now,” Johnny says, his voice hollow and empty sounding even to his own ears. His heart is pounding.

“Johnny, please. I’m sorry,” Mark says. He’s crying again; Johnny’s never seen him cry so much, honestly. “Please don’t leave. Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He’s begging now, and Johnny can’t handle that. He doesn’t say anything else, just turns on his heel and heads for the door. His hand pauses on the door handle, but the hitching sobs from Mark chase him out of the room. He can’t deal with his own emotions and Mark’s too. “I’ll be back in time for our flight,” he says before he steps out the door. 

Like a mirror of two years prior, Johnny doesn’t look back, and the door clicks shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from selena gomez's "souvenir"


	5. interlude: my first and last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for internalized homophobia in this chapter

The moment they step into the Galeries Lafayette, Mark is in awe. He’s never seen something quite as opulent as the high domed ceiling of the department store, the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the glass roof. Balconies at every turn showcase different fashions, and set into the sunken ground level are several cosmetics boutiques. Mark snaps a picture of it all just to be able to show his friends back home; he’s sure they’d never believe him if he tried to describe it.

Johnny looks similarly stunned, swiveling his head back and forth as he tries to take in all the details. Mark thinks he looks cute, less authoritative and more like a little boy in a candy shop.

Speaking of candy -

“Hyung,” Mark says. “I’m hungry.”

Johnny shoots him a skeptical look. “You’re fully capable of feeding yourself,” he says, which is true, but he mostly just looks disinterested in finding something to eat.

“Yeah, but - “

“Let’s split up for an hour,” Johnny suggests. Mark feels his heart momentarily plummet into his feet. Some irrational part of him is afraid Johnny will leave him, disappear into the racks of clothing and never come back. “We can meet here again?”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Mark asks, “You trying to get rid of me?”

Johnny laughs and shakes his head. “I just think it’d be a more efficient use of our time,” he says, then adds, “And I’m gonna find you a birthday present, so scram.”

It feels easy to rationalize this information. Johnny wants to buy him a birthday present, so Mark can’t go with him. He’ll come back, because he’ll have to _give_ Mark the birthday present. He’s not running away. It settles Mark’s nerves enough that he can offer Johnny a smile and press a kiss to his cheek before wandering off in search of food; his stomach is starting to rumble audibly by now.

Mark’s never really been one for shopping, but he can’t help but be taken by how extravagant the department store is. It’s pretty much a reflection of how Mark feels about Paris as a whole: largely out of place in such a classic, romantic city. The only thing that has him feeling comfortable in his own skin is having Johnny by his side for most of it.

He passes by a small restaurant and pauses outside the door to read the menu. Too fancy, too expensive. Mark continues on.

Having Johnny back in his life feels surreal, too. Mark had spent the better part of the last two years pining in private and picking fights in public. He feels like he could pull every interaction he’s had with Johnny since they had their falling out from a neatly kept catalogue in his mind. Any interaction with Johnny is better than no interaction at all.

It feels revitalizing, to have built something new with Johnny. Mark knows that they should talk about it, but he’s afraid. Every time Johnny’s brought it up, Mark pushes the conversation away. He knows if they talk about it they’ll just bring up memories from two years ago, and Mark desperately doesn’t want to relive those.

He doesn’t want to have to remember walking out of Johnny’s apartment, feeling shaky and confused and _wrong_. He doesn’t want to remember calling Yuta in the taxi back to the dorms, begging for help, or Yuta’s worried, “Help? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?” 

He doesn’t want to remember practically falling into Yuta’s arms the moment he stepped through the door of the dorms, heart trying its best to beat itself out of his chest in a panic. Johnny was in love with him and Mark wasn’t gay, _couldn’t_ be gay. What would his family say? Or the fans? He couldn’t disappoint anyone.

Mark stops outside a Pret a Manger, the sign familiar to him even if the food isn’t. They’ve passed by plenty in New York and LA before, and Johnny’s told him they’re not bad. Still, it’s the familiarity of it that draws Mark inside. 

He buys a cup of watermelon and a smoothie and settles down at one of the tables in the corner. Even this reminds him of two years ago, how Yuta had brought him a bowl of watermelon their dorm auntie had cut up for him when he’d been too sad to get out of Yuta’s bed the next day. He hadn’t said anything, and Yuta hadn’t pressed, but that next morning he had stroked the hair back from Mark’s forehead and said, “It’s me or Taeyong. Take your pick.”

The idea of telling Taeyong, of _confessing_ was enough to make Mark’s stomach tumble over itself. So he’d told Yuta about how he and Johnny had kissed and kept kissing, how one day after a particularly heated makeout session that had left them both hard in their pants Johnny had asked if he could touch Mark. How that had developed into sloppy hand jobs and even sloppier blow jobs and eventually, sex. Mark had been well aware that Johnny had been with people before him -- guys and girls -- but he had no qualms about letting Johnny be his first for everything. He wanted it, almost; Johnny’s hands being the only ones to roam his body.

“He didn’t pressure you, did he?” Yuta had asked. Mark remembers the hardened look to his face, the kind of expression that could kill. “Mark, you didn’t do anything you didn’t want to do, did you?”

“What? No,” Mark had said urgently. “I -- I wanted everything. Hyung. I _liked_ everything.” And that had set him off in a fresh wave of tears.

It had taken months after that for Mark to come to terms with how he felt. Countless talks with Yuta, and even Donghyuck. Restless nights of scrolling through the internet on an incognito tab asking, _is it okay to be gay?_ One especially stressful conversation with his parents.

Mark’s not gay. He likes girls, still, likes the soft curves of their body and how small they are when they stand next to him. But he likes guys, too, likes the feeling of being taken care of by strong arms and broad shoulders. 

He’d grown closer to Yuta and Donghyuck in the time that he had spent away from Johnny, but while he’d been grateful for the opportunity, Mark knows that the one person he really would’ve liked to have talked to about all his emotional turmoil was the one person he couldn’t. He’d wanted Johnny to put on his older brother hat, sit him down and reassure him that everything was okay and that there wasn’t anything wrong with him, but that was hard when Johnny wouldn’t so much as look in his direction. In the end, it had just made Mark mad.

Mark finishes his watermelon and tosses the container into a bin. He sips on his smoothie contemplatively. He wants to tell Johnny that he loves him, that he’s been _in love_ with him probably this whole time, but there never seems to be a right time to do it. Everyday they head out into the city with the intent of building new memories, layering over the hurt and resentment. It’s like they’re trying to forget, but Mark can’t. He won’t. He realizes now how much he must have hurt Johnny the night they fought, and his own hurt and confusion doesn’t change that. 

He’s still sipping on his smoothie when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Apprehensively, Mark takes it out, stares at the name and number on the screen. It’s unfamiliar in that Mark doesn’t have it saved to his contacts, but he recognizes it from all the times it’s called him since he left Korea two weeks ago. Even when he’s supposed to be on a vacation, the company won’t leave him alone.

“This is Mark,” he says into the phone. His Korean feels rusty; he hasn’t used it really since Tokyo. 

“Ah, I’m glad I finally caught you.” The voice on the other end of the line is male. Mark recognizes it as the head of the committee they sat down in front of more than a month ago to talk about the Enlistment Plan. “You’ve been having a lot of fun, I guess.”

“I’m on vacation,” Mark says. “The point is to not think about work.”

He hears the executive shift in his chair. “Then I’m sorry to bother you, but you must know that we have things to discuss for when you get back to Korea. I’m sure you haven’t been ignoring all my messages.”

Mark shrugs even though the man can’t see him. “I don’t want the extra projects,” he says. 

“Not even a solo album?”

Mark pauses. He’s been needling the company for a solo album for years now, but it feels wrong to have it dangled in his face like this, like a carrot that will keep pushing him forward.

“I’m sure there are other members that would rather have the opportunity,” is what Mark settles on. “Why don’t you ask Jaehyun?”

“Mark-ssi,” the executive said. “Don’t be difficult.”

The comment touches a nerve. He’s being treated like a child that can’t think for himself, but Mark knows what he wants, and this isn’t it: an endless stream of projects that are being put in place while their unit goes through the inevitable difficulty of losing one of its members every year for the next five years. Mark likes to stay busy, but he doesn’t want to be shoehorned into activities just for the sake of the company producing content for the fans.

“How am I being difficult?” he asks. “Jaehyun is consistently ranked the highest on brand reputation for our group. He’d sell a solo album like it’s going out of style.”

“We can’t have you sitting on the shelf for eight months,” the executive says. 

“Like the way you’ve treated Johnny his whole career?”

Mark doesn’t know where the words come from, but once they’re out of his mouth, he can’t take them back. He knows Johnny has had fewer projects than himself over the years, but he also knows part of it is because SM has never _offered_ him opportunities. It used to make Mark’s blood boil when they were younger. Now he just feels full of simmering resentment.

“What if we gave you a unit?” the executive says. He sounds -- excited, and Mark realizes with a jolt of panic that he’s given the man an opening. He’s revealed too much of himself and what he holds dear.

“I’m already in three units,” Mark replies, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t think I need another one.”

“No? You’d turn down a unit with you and Johnny?”

Mark knows that it’s a ploy, a trick to get him to agree, but he also knows this man has enough power to get the unit going. If Mark says he wants it, he’ll have it.

And can he really deny Johnny this opportunity? The chance to not just make music, but to shine in it, too? It’s hard to be a standout when they’re in a group of nine, but Mark knows people watch him. He knows that when he’s on the stage he catches peoples’ attention. Maybe not the same way Taeyong does, but he attracts people more so than some of the other members. More than Johnny. 

“You should talk to Johnny about it,” the man says. “Obviously he should have a say in this, but you should try and get back to me before you come home.”

Before they come home. Approximately two weeks. Mark’s stomach flips with anxiety. 

“And if I don’t call you back?” he asks. His smoothie cup is empty, but Mark chews on the straw contemplatively anyway. “Then what?”

“Kenzie-nim is on standby for your solo album,” the executive replies. “She says she has a lot of material that she thinks you’d like.” And then he hangs up.

Mark stares at the blank phone screen for a long time before he sets it face down on the table. Weaseling this trip out of the higher ups in SM had been his way of wrangling some semblance of control over his life, but even from thousands of kilometers away the company is still trying to pull his strings, like a puppet. 

He doesn’t know how to bring this up to Johnny. Should he frame it like an opportunity, or will Johnny be upset that it’s a unit project? Will he even want to do it with Mark? They may be friends -- and sleeping together -- but it’s hard for Mark to get a read on Johnny. He doesn’t know what to expect.

And would Johnny hate him more if he found out that this was an ultimatum? That it was this or a project that Mark refused to take on? It leaves Mark’s stomach feeling a bit hollow.

He still has time before he has to meet up with Johnny, so he spends it wandering the lower level of the store, weaving in and out of the cosmetic booths. He’s not really sure what he’s looking for, but he pauses in front of a perfume counter.

“Can I help you, sir?” the attendant asks in heavily accented English. Mark figures he doesn’t look like the type to speak French fluently.

“Um, I’m just looking, I think?” he says. 

“Ah,” the attendant says. She has a nice smile, and it reminds Mark of Alicia from Sydney. “Can I interest you in a sample? This cologne from Yves Saint-Laurent is quite nice.”

She sprays some cologne on a strip of paper and hands it to Mark before Mark can say otherwise. It smells soft, flowery, but with a hint of something dark underneath. It’s heady, and Mark can easily imagine inhaling it from Johnny’s skin. 

“It’s nice,” Mark comments,then on impulse, adds, “Can I buy it?”

“Of course,” the attendant says with a smile. Mark feels like a sucker. “May I gift wrap it for you?”

Mark declines the gift wrap and the bag. The box is small enough that it fits in the pocket of his backpack. He doesn’t know when he’ll give it to Johnny. Maybe never. It feels embarrassing to buy Johnny a cologne. It’s the kind of gift that Mark feels like he should buy a boyfriend.

But that’s what he wants, really. For Johnny to be his boyfriend. 

Maybe that’s the solution. He’ll talk with Johnny and they’ll get everything sorted out and they’ll ride off into the sunset and Mark will give him the cologne. 

Wishful thinking. 

Mark is far too scared. Too scared to rock the boat, too scared to be rejected. He knows, though, that what they have can’t last. He can’t keep taking what Johnny is willing to give him and hope that it’s enough. It’s not fair to either of them.

He checks his watch. There’s still 10 minutes left before he has to meet Johnny back at the entrance to the store. His backpack feels heavy, weighed down by a spur of the moment gift, his shoulders burdened by the offer from the company executive. Mark feels like he’s got a ticking time bomb hanging over his head, and one wrong move will set it off.

He wanders back up to the first floor, takes the long way back to the meeting point. With the way the store is built, Mark can see the entrance every time he passes by another archway, squinting across the distance to see if Johnny’s made it back already. Even so, Mark still makes it back to their meeting place first, and that same thread of panic from earlier runs through him.

What if Johnny doesn’t come back?

But he shows up, sauntering over with a bag with the store’s name stamped across the front in big, cursive lettering. _Galeries Lafayette_. Mark’s stomach settles. “Find something?” he asks.

“For you,” Johnny replies. He’s looking at Mark with such naked fondness that Mark has to look away before his heart gets too ahead of himself. When he looks back, Johnny is still smiling, though it’s a little mischievous. “But I didn’t really have time to shop for myself,” he adds.

Mark groans, but it’s more for show than anything else. He figured Johnny would want to spend more time here, shopping. The only person Mark’s met that loves clothes shopping more than Johnny is Taeyong. “How much time do you need?”

Johnny slings an arm over his shoulder easily. Mark tries not to look into it too much, but his heart still flips when Johnny says, “Baby, we’ll be here all day.”

Mark doesn’t spend much time shopping for himself, but he watches Johnny closely. He notes the way Johnny’s hair is starting to darken at the roots, the dark brown fading to its natural black. It doesn’t look bad, is barely noticeable, actually, but it’s kind of endearing. Like a peek at the real Johnny underneath the idol facade. The set of his shoulders looks more relaxed than the beginning of the trip, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes look less noticeable. 

Johnny looks happier, and with a jolt, Mark realizes that it’s because of him. 

Because they’re friends again. Because they can have civil conversations. Because they can talk about everything and nothing, the same way they used to. Sure, there are parts of Johnny that are still closed off to Mark, but Mark thinks he could open them up again. Starting with an apology probably wouldn’t hurt.

Because at the end of the day, that’s what it comes down to. Two apologies long overdue. For a long time, Mark never felt the need to give his; Johnny had turned his back on him. But Donghyuck had -- in a rare moment of wisdom -- pointed out that metaphorically, Mark had done the same. Maybe in Mark’s head it was justifiable, but Johnny never knew. He still doesn’t.

Apologies are scary, though. It means they have to talk, and it means bringing up the worst of their relationship. It makes Mark’s heart ache. The cologne in his backpack feels like the heaviest weight in the world, now. Mark would do anything to keep Johnny happy, even if it means giving back the things he’s taken this week. He could live without the kisses and the sex and the casual intimacy as long as Johnny trusted him.

It’s what he wished for on Point Zero, after all. Just a couple days ago Mark had stood at the centre of Paris and made a hopeless wish on a plaque set into the stones in front of Notre Dame. It had been a shot in the dark, but Mark clings to it even now.

Desperately, he had wished for something good with Johnny, and now that he has it, he never wants to let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the nct dream song of the same name


	6. lose me in the sight of you

True to his word, Johnny does go back to the hotel room before their flight is scheduled to take off. It’s three in the morning and he’s a little drunk, but he doesn’t feel anything anymore, which is ideal. When he gets back, Mark is curled around Johnny’s pillow. In the fluorescent light flooding out of the bathroom, Johnny can see tear tracks staining Mark’s cheeks. He brushes his teeth and falls into bed without much of a second thought.

They both look like wrecks when they get up the next morning, but Johnny pays it no mind. They're just going to be sitting on a plane for nine hours anyway. He doesn’t say anything to Mark, not even when Mark calls his name, soft and unsure before the exit the hotel.

Johnny’s heart feels like it’s in a million pieces. How can it be that Mark has loved him all this time and yet let him suffer so much? Why didn’t he try to say anything sooner? Johnny knows the answer to that, but he doesn’t want to think about it now. 

Instead, he spends the flight to Chicago thinking about all the memories they shared in Paris and locking it all away in a small little box in the back of his mind. The easy camaraderie, the casual intimacy, the way that Mark looked at him like he was the entire world and more. It hurts to think that for five blissful days they had what Johnny had always wanted, and now they have nothing.

They have worse than nothing, honestly. Before, they would fight, and even though they were always shouting nasty words at each other, some interaction felt better than nothing at all. Now Johnny doesn’t even think he can stomach looking at Mark.

Mark spends at least an hour of the flight just staring at Johnny, which is both unnerving and annoying, so Johnny closes his eyes and takes a nap. When he wakes up, Mark is hunched over his notebook, curled up as best he can in his business class seat, pen flying furiously over the page. Johnny knows that particular notebook is for songwriting, which doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t want to be heartbroken words splashed across fancy synths for the world to hear. Still, he doesn’t say anything. He can’t bring himself to.

When they step off the plan at O’Hare, Johnny balks. For some reason he had forgotten that he and Mark would have to actually occupy the same space together here; they’re booked into a hotel by the company. The idea of being stuck in a room with Mark unsettles Johnny, so he makes a split second decision. 

“You go to the hotel,” he says, dragging Mark’s suitcase off the conveyor belt for him. His own hasn’t shown up yet. 

“Johnny,” Mark says. His voice cracks down the middle, whether from disuse or emotion, Johnny can’t tell.

“I’m going to stay with my parents,” Johnny continues. He can finally see his suitcase come down the chute and make its way towards them. “We can meet up once to do some vlog stuff.”

“Johnny, please,” Mark begs, but Johnny tunes him out. He pulls his suitcase off the belt and heads towards the doors for the taxi. Mark catches up to him, suitcase bumping against his legs in his haste.

They’re almost at the door when Johnny whirls around, just about colliding with Mark in the process.

“I can’t be around you,” he says, tries to steel himself against the heartbroken look on Mark’s face. “I just -- what you said last night really fucked me up, Mark.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says immediately. His eyes are wide and shiny behind his glasses. “If I could take it back, I would. I’d never have told you that I -- I love you if I knew it would end up like this.”

Some part of Johnny curls up at the words. Had Mark been hoping that Johnny had held a flame for him all this time? That after all the emotional turmoil of the last two years Johnny would just fall into his arms, desperate to be in a relationship with him? Johnny might have thrown most of his self-respect out the window the first night they had had sex, but he’s still got a shred left to turn Mark away now.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “We have to live with it, but I can’t do that by being around you all the time. Go to the hotel, Mark. I’ll see you later.” 

He strides out the door before he can do something stupid like take it all back. There’s already a decent line for taxis, so Johnny hustles to the end, pulling out his phone to text his mpm. By the time he’s at the front of the line, Mark still hasn’t come out of the airport, and Johnny doesn’t look back to see if he does when the cab pulls up to collect him. 

His mom looks surprised but not unhappy to see him.

“John-ah,” she says when she opens the door. Johnny’s got no idea where he’s gone and put his spare key. Probably lost somewhere in the jumble of his suitcase. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later in the week.”

“Nice to see you too, Eomma,” he replies. She rolls her eyes at him and ushers him through the door.

The smell of food permeates the house. His mom has always made him special meals when he’s come home, and today, despite the late notice, appears to be no different. Johnny abandons his suitcase in the front entry in favour of following his mom into the kitchen where she appears to have four different pots going on the stove. When he looks out the back window he can see his dad at the barbeque grilling meat.

“Are you expecting a lot of people?” Johnny asks, taking a spoon from the spoon rest and stirring the kimchi jjigae. 

“Well, I was expecting Mark Lee, but I see he’s nowhere to be found,” his mom says. “When am I going to see my baby again?”

She says it teasingly, but it still sends a flash of shame running through Johnny’s body. His mom has always adored Mark, and when they had their falling out, Johnny had stopped talking about him. His mom was perceptive enough to pick up on it, but Johnny doesn’t doubt that she’s been curious about Mark’s well-being the last couple years.

“Maybe later this week,” Johnny replies. 

“I should hope so. We were going to have a birthday party while you both were here.”

Johnny’s not sure how he’s managed to forget, but it completely slipped his mind that it was his mother’s -- and Mark’s -- birthday at the end of the week. They’ll have to film something, probably, for the vlog.

“Sure. We can have him here on the second,” Johnny says. His mom sidles up to the stove next to him, pushing around a pan of japchae. 

“Are you doing okay, Johnny?” she asks, touching his arm. She’s so much smaller than he is; it always surprises Johnny somehow. “You look tired.”

“I just got off a nine hour plane ride, Eomma,” he replies. “And the time difference is hard.”

His mom nods sagely. “And besides that?” she asks. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to spend five days in Chicago sleeping in your childhood bed. It’s almost too small for you now.”

It’s maybe a product of living so far away from home for so long, but Johnny’s always surprised by how well his mom knows him, how she can see through the layer of tired indifference to pick up on how he’s hurting inside. He loves his parents, but sometimes it feels like he’s talking to a couple of old friends, rather than the people that raised him for 18 years.

“Maybe I just wanted to hang out,” Johnny replies. 

His mom scoffs. “Sure,” she says. “You came all this way to hang out with your parents. Did you know Appa is painting the fence this summer? Maybe you can help him with that while you’re home.”

Johnny knows he hasn’t escaped the conversation, but he appreciates his mom pushing the topic to the side, for now. He feels too emotionally drained to talk about anything important right now, but he needs some sort of a distraction so his brain doesn’t linger on the devastated expression on Mark’s face at the airport.

He gives the kimchi jjigae one last stir before pressing a kiss to the top of his mom’s head and heading outside to find his dad.

Johnny’s dad isn’t the most talkative, which is probably fine in a family with two chatterboxes in Johnny and his mom. Even now he’s sitting on one of the deck chairs, scrolling through his phone while the galbi smokes away on the tin foil lined barbeque. 

“Hi, Appa,” Johnny says, sinking into the chair next to his dad.

“John-ah,” his dad greets. He glances up from his phone. “Is Mark inside?”

Jesus. Johnny tries his best not to make a face, but he must fail because his dad shoots him a sympathetic look. “He didn’t come?” he asks, and Johnny replies quietly, “He wasn’t invited.”

He’s not sure what it is about his dad that makes it easier to talk to about some of these things. They’re not really the kind of guys that have frequent heart-to-hearts, but Johnny’s comfortable with telling his dad about how he’s feeling. His dad is a good listener.

“Ah,” his dad says knowingly. He gets up to check on the meat, flipping over the pieces meticulously. “I was curious about this trip when you mentioned it would just be you and Mark. You don’t talk about him anymore.”

“I -- we had a falling out,” Johnny admits, twisting his hands in his lap. “We stopped talking for awhile.”

“That implies you started talking again.”

“Yeah, we did, I guess,” Johnny says. “But not enough things were said up front.”

“So now you’re not talking again.”

“Correct.”

His dad sighs and begins to pull some of the meat off the grill. “Do you remember what you were like at 21, John-ah?” he asks. 

Johnny shrugs. It was seven years ago. They debuted that year. 

“You were so eager to rush into things,” his dad said. “You used to call us and tell us about all these wonderful projects and opportunities you were taking part in. We would caution you against working too much, but you’d always reassure us that you were taking care of yourself. Taeyong told us one day not long after your debut that you would cry yourself to sleep every night because you were so overwhelmed.”

Johnny feels his face turn a brilliant shade of red. He knew, on some level, that some of the members had spoken with his parents on occasion, but he hadn’t realized to the extent. It would make sense, though, that they would share the hardships Johnny was hiding from them, if only to keep them in the loop. He’s simultaneously grateful and upset with Taeyong’s diligence.

“All I’m saying,” his dad continues, “is that Mark was probably not that different from you, rushing into things without fully understanding the consequences. Youth is not an excuse for bad choices, but a lens with which you should review choices that you may consider mistakes.”

Johnny swallows. It reminds him of the conversations he’d had with Ten almost three weeks ago now. _Change your attitude,_ Ten had said. Maybe Johnny also needed to change his perspective.

“The meat is ready,” his dad says, pulling Johnny out of his thoughts. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

Johnny stands from his chair and follows his dad inside. His mom has laid out all the dishes on the kitchen table, and Johnny settles into his seat. He tries to ignore the empty place setting at the seat across from him.

“We’re happy to have you home, Johnny,” his mom says. “We missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too,” Johnny says. It feels like the most sincere thing he’s said to his parents the entire time he’s been there.

His mom smiles and nudges some kimbap onto his plate. Johnny passes his dad the japchae. They fall into a comfortable silence, but Johnny knows even this can’t last. His parents will want to know more about what he’s going to get up to in the city, and they’re going to want to know where Mark is. Johnny just doesn’t know how long he can drag out the silence.

Unsurprisingly, Johnny gets a lot of texts from Mark. When he plugs in his phone that night, there are 12 unread messages and six missed calls. Johnny swipes away the notifications without reading any of them.

He wakes up the next morning feeling a lot more alive than he had the day before, if no less sad. His mom’s gone out to a farmer’s market and his dad is off at the hardware store, so Johny makes himself a breakfast of Cheerios and the saddest cup of coffee he’s had on the trip so far. He’ll have to go buy his parents some better grounds.

He and Mark hadn’t really planned what they were going to do while they were in Chicago. Mark had never seen the Cloud Gate, and Johnny had thought maybe they could go down to Navy Pier one day. Maybe the beach on another. He had wanted to drive around the city with Mark, live out a fantasy straight out of a 90s summer romance movie where he could drive with one hand on the wheel and the other holding Mark’s hand. It feels like a silly thought, in hindsight.

When he’s done breakfast, Johnny steps out the back door onto the deck. The yard looks largely the same; there’s still the flowerbed in the back that his mother has diligently planted. The gazebo looks worn down, the barbeque inside it even more so. Johnny had once offered to buy his dad a new grill, but his dad had refused. He’d been skeptical that a new grill could provide the same flavour that his beloved barbeque could. Johnny had let that one go easily. 

The fence, as promised, is half painted. Or, not even half. His dad has seemingly managed to slather white paint across two slats and left it at that. Johnny feels a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He heads inside to find some older clothes he won’t mind getting dirty.

His mom comes home with bags of vegetables and a giant bag of kettle corn. “Your dad likes it,” she says when Johnny comes back downstairs in a t-shirt and sweatpant cutoffs and asks her about it. “You’d probably like it too.” 

Johnny rifles through the bags of produce and lets a huge watermelon roll out onto the table. His mom takes one look at the pinched expression on his face, says, “For the birthday party,” and leaves it at that.

“I was going to help Appa with the fence,” Johnny says, jamming his hands into his pocket. “Should I wait for him or is there stuff I can use to get started?”

His mom laughs and pats his arm. “I’d like it if you got started, but you know your appa. He’s particular about these kinds of things. Best wait for him, love.”

Johny spends most of the morning helping his mom prep vegetables and generally just puttering around. He expects her to pester him about Mark, but instead she asks him about some of the other members. Johnny tells her about seeing Taeyong off to the military, Yuta’s new station song that is supposed to be coming out in the fall, and Donghyuck’s general well-being. 

“I’m a bit disappointed that you won’t be touring as much anymore,” his mom says, dumping her diced cucumbers into a container and snapping the lid on. “I miss seeing all of you.”

Johnny’s not really sure if they’ll ever do world tours as 127 like they used to. By the time they get Donghyuck through the military they’ll all be -- old. Old for kpop’s standards at least. Johnny already feels like he’s pushing it and he’s 27. 

“You should come to Korea and visit,” Johnny says. “The members miss you, too.”

His mom laughs. He can hear the garage door opening, the sound of his father taking off his shoes. “We haven’t visited in a long time,” she says. “Maybe we should plan a trip.”

“Plan a trip where?” his dad asks. He comes in holding two cans of paint and a plastic bag. He takes one look at Johnny’s outfit and nods towards the back door. 

“To Korea, to see all the boys,” his mom replies. Johnny’s dad makes a non-committal noise. “Also, should I make something American for lunch? Spaghetti?”

“That’s fine,” Johnny replies, following his dad out the back door. 

His dad disappears into the shed along the side of the house and reappears with yet another can of paint and some paint brushes. He sets them down and rifles through the bag he bought, procuring some sandpaper. 

“I discovered that it doesn’t stick well because it’s rough,” he says, gesturing to the cans at their feet. “So we should sand it and then prime it. Only then can we paint it.”

Upon closer inspection, Johnny sees that the cans are paint primer, not the white paint he had previously thought it would be. “Sure,” he says easily. “Just point me in the right direction, Pops.”

The manual labour is therapeutic. Johnny spends the rest of the day helping his dad sand the fence. It takes forever, and it’s tedious, but it keeps Johnny out of his head too much. It’s hard to feel sad about lost love when he’s too busy cursing how stupid sanding an entire fence is. 

His dad doesn’t try to talk to him about anything important, either. Johnny suspects his parents had discussed it the night before, after he’d gone to bed: don’t talk about Mark Lee and maybe Johnny will stop looking so sad. Johnny hates that he’s essentially ruining what would be a nice reunion period by being a petulant child. 

There’s part of him that isn’t really sure what he’s all worked up about. Shouldn’t he be happy that Mark has admitted what Johnny has longed to hear? Shouldn’t it be a relief to finally understand what made Mark pull away from him? 

He goes upstairs to shower and change, feeling sweaty and gross from hours outside in the muggy, Chicago sun. There’s plenty of notifications on his phone from Mark again, but Johnny zeros in on a message from Yuta. He changes into some clean clothes and opens the message.

_You better fix things, Johnny, or else I’ll fly to Chicago myself and kick your ass._

So, Mark’s been talking. 

It shouldn’t really surprise him, and it shouldn’t surprise him either that it’s Yuta that Mark chose to run to. He’s had his suspicions that Mark may have let Yuta know about everything that went on between them, but Yuta’s never made any indication that he’s known. Maybe Johnny hasn’t given him enough credit for his ability to compartmentalize. 

Johnny sits down on the bed and drops his head into his hands. In all honesty, he knows why he feels so upset about the situation, and it’s the knowledge of Yuta’s involvement in Mark’s side of the story that has Johnny confronting this truth now.

It’s the fact that Mark needed him and Johnny wasn’t there. There’s a heavy guilt sitting in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, this sick feeling of knowing that Yuta probably only knows about what happened because Mark had gone to him, the same way Johnny had gone to Ten. And while Johnny knew Mark and Yuta were close -- had always been close -- he also knows that this was not something Mark would have chosen to voluntarily go to Yuta with. If Mark’s gay awakening had been with any other member, Johnny knows he would have been the one that Mark would run to in the end. 

_I needed it to be you, but you didn’t come back,_ Mark had said. Isn’t that what Johnny’s doing now, too? Running away when Mark needs him most, leaving the emotional baggage for someone else to collect?

He wants to talk to someone. He wants to call Ten and ask him for his advice, but Ten had told him he wouldn’t be Johnny’s life coach. In a pinch, he knows Ten would listen to him, but he doesn’t think he can handle Ten’s judgement right now anyway.

Truthfully, he really wants to talk to Taeyong, but -- Johnny pauses. He pulls up the calendar on his phone, then the world clock. Taeyong will be done his training by now, which also means he’ll be able to use his phone in the evenings. It’s five in the morning in Korea, but Johnny shoots Taeyong a message anyway, asking if they can catch up later. If Taeyong says yes, Johnny will have to wait most of the day, now, but Johnny feels a small sense of relief, knowing that Taeyong is only a phone call away now.

His mom pokes her head into his room, eyeing him skeptically. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?” she asks. “Or are you too busy being a sullen teenager.”

“Eomma,” Johnny complains. “I haven’t been a teenager for … almost 10 years.”

His mom shrugs. “Then you better smarten up, John-ah,” she says, but it’s still fond sounding. She leaves him be, but there’s something comforting about the normalness of the conversation, the lack of expectations. It reminds Johnny that even though he’s not ready to talk to his parents about what happened between him and Mark, the door is open. 

Johnny will be ready eventually. Just -- not yet.

Johnny wakes up the next morning at seven AM because his phone is ringing. He fumbles blindly across the sheets for it and finds his phone hanging off the edge of his bed by its charging cable.

“Hello?” he asks. He hadn’t even checked who the caller was, but he figures if it were Mark it’d be an emergency; he should know better than to call Johnny before breakfast.

“You sound half asleep,” Taeyong replies. “Where are you?”

“Chicago,” Johnny replies automatically. “It’s, like, seven in the morning.”

“Oh,” Taeyong says, drawing out the sound. Johnny can hear him shift on whatever he’s sitting on. “Well, good morning.”

Johnny checks the time on his world clock app. Nine in the evening in Korea. “Goodnight,” he replies, which makes Taeyong laugh.

Johnny wakes up gradually to Taeyong telling him about his mandatory training and the people in his division and how it’s almost nice having so much structure to his life.

“It’s kind of like having a comeback,” Taeyong says with a laugh. “Every aspect of your life is planned out for you. You don’t ever really have to think about what to do because there’s always some kind of training or activity for you to be working at.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Johnny cautions. “We want our leader back eventually.” 

Taeyong laughs. “Yeah, I don’t think military life is the life for me,” he says. “But being here isn’t bad.” He pauses for a long time, and Johnny just listens to him breathe, taking some comfort in it. Taeyong is his best friend and he misses him a lot. “So. What exactly did you want to talk to me about?”

“Can’t I just want to catch up?” Johnny asks weakly. He can practically hear Taeyong’s eyes rolling around in his head.

“Sure you can,” Taeyong replies. “But you can do that in Korea, not when you’re on vacation. How’s Mark?”

Johnny feels the breath catch in his throat. “Um, so. About that.”

“You didn’t actually kill him, did you?” Taeyong asks. “Like, it was something I was worried about, but I thought maybe you guys would at least be civil - “

“He’s not dead, Yong,” Johnny says, then adds, “at least, I don’t think he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Johnny picks at a loose thread in his pillowcase. “I haven’t seen him for a couple days.”

Taeyong makes an unattractive squawking sound. “Have you called the police?” Taeyong asks. “Oh my gosh, Johnny, I can’t believe you _lost_ Mark. And he hasn’t tried to get in touch with you? What if he got -- what if he got _murdered_.”

“Okay, okay, stop, stop,” Johnny says. It’s not funny, but he can’t help but smile at Taeyong’s initial panic. “I didn’t mean that I lost him. I mean, things got a little too much so I sent him to the hotel and I’m at home with my parents.”

The silence between them is almost overwhelming. Then, Taeyong says, “God, you’re such an asshole. What happened?”

It feels nice, to be asked for the general story and not be accused of some wrong-doing. Everyone keeps assuming the worst about him, but it’s nice to have someone standing in his corner for once. Or, at the very least, be neutral.

So Johnny tells Taeyong the whole story. He goes all the way back to 2020 and talks about how he and Mark had gotten together and how they had fallen apart. He adds in all the new information he gleaned from his fight with Mark, tries not to remember how Mark had looked with a tear-stained face illuminated in the soft light of their luxurious Parisian hotel room. He talks about how they came back together in Sydney, and then in Paris, and then how they fell apart at the end, too.

“Are you angry?” Taeyong asks when Johnny is done.

“At who?”

“Mark,” Taeyong replies. “Are you mad about why he rejected you two years ago?”

Johnny exhales. “No,” he says after a long moment. “No -- I don’t think so. Sometimes I still get sad about the things he said to me, but it’s different knowing _why_ he said them.”

Taeyong sighs. “Are you mad about him telling you?”

The question is surprising. Johnny hasn’t really thought about it. He and Mark had to have talked about what happened, but if they never had, they wouldn’t be sitting in two rooms across the city from each other right now. They’d be happy, even if it was a game of pretend. 

“No,” Johnny replies. “If we hadn’t blown up then, it would only be a matter of time. We’d just be having this conversation in two weeks instead of right now.”

“So, what I’m getting,” Taeyong says, “is that you’re not mad at Mark, but you’re punishing him anyway?”

Johnny balks. “What?” he asks, feeling a little like cold water has been dumped on his head.

“All the anger you feel right now, it’s at yourself, right?” Taeyong asks. When Johnny makes a sad, pitiful noise as confirmation, Taeyong sighs. “I know you, Johnny. I know what you’re beating yourself up about. But by focussing on yourself, you’re leaving Mark out to dry again.”

“I’m selfish, Taeyong,” he whispers, rolling onto his stomach so he can smash his face into his pillow. “I made it all about me, not just that night, but for two years. Did you know back in Tokyo, when we were still fighting, he told me I hadn’t changed at all? I thought he was just saying that to make me mad, but it’s true. I was always just looking out for myself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Taeyong says. “I think where you went wrong was your refusal to see what happened in any other light. But now you know. You can still fix this, Johnny.”

“How?” Johnny whines.

Taeyong laughs. “You talk about it right now and don’t let two years pass between you guys again,” he says. 

“I -- “ Johnny starts. “I -- I’m not that brave.”

“Maybe not,” Taeyong replies. “But I bet Mark can be brave enough for the both of you. He’d do anything for you, Johnny, you must know that by now.”

Johnny does. He knows that a lot of choices Mark’s made over the years now have been to keep Johnny comfortable. He hadn’t wanted to rock the boat more than he needed to; in the end Johnny had been the one to capsize them, even if it felt necessary.

“I have to go,” Taeyong informs him. “I have to turn off my phone now.”

Johnny pulls the phone away from his ear. He’s surprised they’ve been talking for almost an hour. “I miss you,” he says, because it’s the truth.

“I miss you, too,” Taeyong says. “Next time I talk to you, you better have sorted things out with Mark.”

“I’ll try my best,” Johnny replies.

“Good. Love you.”

“Love you too, Yongie,” Johnny says, then ends the call.

He lies in bed for a long moment, trying to muster up the energy to get ready for the day. His conversation with Taeyong has left him feeling emotionally drained, but eventually, Johnny makes it out of bed.

His parents are sitting at the kitchen table when he comes down, sipping at their terrible coffee and trying their best to look inconspicuous. Johnny sighs.

“How much of the conversation did you hear?” he asks.

“Oh, Johnny, please don’t be upset,” his mom says. Her eyes are wide and nervous looking; they remind Johnny instantly of Mark, so he looks away. “I could hear you speaking Korean in your room and I had hoped it was Mark, but I figured it wasn’t by what you were saying.”

Johnny scrubs a hand over his face. “What was I saying?”

“Just that you were selfish,” his mom says. She looks sad. “Johnny, we’ve tried to be respectful and not pry too much, but you’ve been so sad since you got here, and we haven’t seen Mark at all. Can’t you please tell us what’s going on?”

Johnny stares into the depths of his coffee. Normally he’d drink it black, but it’s too bitter for his liking, so he adds a splash of milk.

“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me,” he says finally. “I made some mistakes -- made some choices I’m not proud of.”

His parents are silent for a moment. Then his dad says, “As long as you are learning from your mistakes and striving to be a better man, we won’t be disappointed.”

“We love you, Johnny,” his mom adds.

Johnny sighs and sits down at the kitchen table. The coffee doesn’t taste a whole lot better with the milk in it, but it’s at least palatable. “You guys -- you guys know I like men, right?”

His parents exchange glances. “Yes,” his mom says carefully. “You like women, too?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, thinks of the handful of girls he dated in high school, the couple of trainees he hooked up with right before debut. “But, I guess the point of this story is that I like men.”

Realization seems to dawn on his mom’s face, but she purses her lips and doesn’t say anything. Johnny scrubs a hand over his face. “So,” he starts. “A couple years ago … “

He runs through the whole story again, though a slightly more watered down version. Even though his parents had promised not to be disappointed, he doesn’t want them to know exactly how mean he and Mark were to each other. Plus, they don’t need to know about the copious amounts of sex they had in Paris.

“You left him crying at the airport?” his mother says flatly when he finishes. Johnny rolls his eyes. Typical, that she would pick up on that and seemingly nothing else.

“Eomma,” he whines, putting his head on the table and staring up at her with his best puppy-dog eyes. “I’m _hurting_.”

“Because of yourself,” she says, but she runs a hand through his hair anyway. 

“Yeah, Taeyong pointed out that I’m just wallowing in my own guilt for not being there for Mark when he was going through his gay crisis.”

He watches his dad mouth _gay crisis_ , like he’s trying to comprehend the term better by fitting the shape of the words into his mouth. Johnny can’t help but smile.

“John-ah,” his mom says, drawing his attention back. “I was going to say that you’re hurting yourself because you don’t know what to do with all the love inside your heart.”

This makes Johnny sit up. He’s had enough of other people picking apart his psyche today. “What?” he asks, rather impolitely.

His mom scowls at him. “Mark told you he loves you, and you panicked.”

“I did not,” Johnny replies.

“You loved him then, but you’re too scared to open up and admit you love him now, too. If you do, it leaves you vulnerable to getting hurt again. You’re trying to protect yourself, but it’s causing more harm than good.”

“I’m -- “ Johnny starts, but cuts himself off. He wants to say he’s not in love with Mark, that he got over them ages ago, but he’s not sure that’s true. The feelings were there as far back as Sydney, and only solidified in Paris.

His mom is right. He’s afraid to be in love with Mark again. Some part of his brain keeps telling him that Mark will let him go again, that Johnny’s left it too long now and if he talks to Mark and tries to apologize, Mark will already have moved on. Johnny can practically imagine Mark opening the door to the hotel room, telling Johnny he’s not in love anymore, and closing the door in his face.

Honestly, it’s probably what he deserves.

“Eomma,” Johnny says, tiredly.

His mom continues to pet gently through his hair. “You should talk to him today, sweetheart,” she says. “This conversation, like all the ones you’ve been having this trip, is long overdue.”

“Do you think he’ll want to see me?” he asks petulantly.

His mom leans across the table and presses a kiss to his temple. “I know he wants to see you, John-ah,” she says. “He called me last night inquiring if you were okay.”

Johnny shouldn't be surprised that Mark and his mom talk, especially after his mom stopped asking him for updates on Mark a couple years ago. He wonders who got in touch with whom first. Probably his mother, based on how overprotective she can be. She’d probably weaseled Mark’s number out of Taeyong.

“So, what, I’m just supposed to call him and say, ‘Hey, let’s meet up and talk!’”

“Yes, Johnny, that is exactly what you’re supposed to say,” his dad says dryly. “The sooner you do it, the better. I know you’ll let the anxiety manifest in you if you put it off.”

Johnny sighs. It’s been nice visiting with his parents the past couple days, but when he leaves he certainly won’t miss the way they drag him for all his less-than-admirable qualities. 

“Yes, I need you two to make up before our birthday,” his mom says. 

“And I could use an extra hand to help with the fence.”

“Appa, we’re probably not going to finish that fence while we’re here.”

“No,” his father says, “but we’ll make good progress, and that’s as much as I can ask for.”

It feels like a bit of a metaphor for Johnny’s life. He scrubs a hand over his face again and sits up. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to Mark today.”

“Within the hour,” his mother says, getting up from the table. She heads over to the fridge and opens the doors. “Now, how about some breakfast. I was thinking of pancakes. Do you eat those a lot in Korea? We haven’t had them in ages.”

Johnny watches his mother putter around the kitchen making pancakes like they didn’t just have an entire life-altering conversation about Johnny’s failed love with their second favourite human being on the planet. Maybe that’s just what moving on looks like. He chances a glance at his father, just to find him already looking back. His dad jerks his head towards the stairs and Johnny sighs. He should call Mark now while the pancakes are being made. At least it’ll give him an excuse to get off the phone if things go south.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, and trudges up the stairs back to his room.

The messages from Mark had largely tapered off after the first day. Johnny had received a smattering of messages the day before, but so far there’s nothing from Mark today. Maybe it’s too early. Johnny glances at the clock and sees that it’s almost nine. Mark’s not an early riser, but he’s probably awake by now. Johnny hates to think that Mark might just be wallowing in bed. He’s had the vlog camera so far, though, so maybe he had gone out into Chicago by himself to film some things.

Johnny pulls up the message thread from Mark and scrolls back up to the day they landed. Most of the texts are along the lines of _I’m sorry,_ and _please come to the hotel_. They stop around eight in the evening, which Johnny takes to mean that Mark went to bed, no doubt exhausted from the jet lag and the emotional turmoil. The next day, they pick up along the same lines, but now there’s a few messages with, _I wish I had never told you I love you_ , and _I wish we would go back to fighting. Anything would be better than this._

It makes Johnny’s heart break, to think of Mark sitting alone in the hotel room regretting his choices. Regretting being brave. 

There are voicemails, too, but Johnny doesn’t think he can stomach listening to those. Instead, he scrolls over to the dialler, punches in Mark’s number -- the only one he knows off by heart.

It only rings once before Mark picks up, like he’d been waiting by the phone. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and neither does Johnny, but then Mark’s tentative voice floats down the line. “Hyung?” he asks.

It’s barely more than a whisper, but Johnny can hear how raw Mark’s voice sounds, like he’s spent a considerable amount of time crying in the last couple days.

“Hi, Mark,” Johnny says, keeping his voice equally as quiet.

Mark doesn’t say anything in return. It hurts Johnny to think that he’s reduced Mark down to someone who is too scared to say anything to him, who is afraid to rock the boat. Johnny’s apparently done a lot of influencing on Mark’s character in the last two years.

“I’m -- I should’ve called sooner,” Johnny stutters. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mark says, even though it’s not and they both know it. “I -- I understand. I shouldn’t have told you I love you.”

“Don’t say that,” Johnny says before he can think better of it.

“Hyung?” Mark asks, curious, so Johnny steam rolls ahead.

“Can you meet me?” he asks, listening to the way Mark’s breath catches in his throat. “At the Cloud Gate in Millennium Park?”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, Johnny is afraid Mark will say no. His worst fears, realized. Finally, Mark says, “Okay. What time?”

Johnny glances at the clock. He can hear his mom downstairs, singing something silly about pancakes. “Noon?” he suggests. 

“That’s fine,” Mark says.

They fall into silence again. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but it’s not easy, either. Johnny sighs. “I have to go,” he says, “but I’ll see you at noon, okay? I promise I’ll be there.”

Mark lets out a long sigh, like he’d been holding his breath. Had he been worried that Johnny wouldn’t show up? Was he afraid that Johnny would repeat his mistakes from two years ago -- from two _days_ ago -- and not give them another spare thought? Johnny feels the guilt eat at him.

“Okay,” Mark says, finally. “I -- okay. I’ll see you later, hyung.”

He doesn’t hang up, and for a long moment, neither does Johnny. Finally, the smell of pancakes wafting up the stairs becomes too much for him, so he says, “Bye, Markie,” and ends the call. 

His parents give him a knowing look when he comes back down the stairs, but they don’t say anything. Instead, his mom piles a stack of pancakes on his plate and his dad hands him the syrup, and they eat their breakfast to the sound of The Eagles on the radio.

Johnny drives himself to Millennium Park and does battle with several people in the parking garage he pulls into before he finally makes his way out into the Chicago sunshine. He’s got five minutes to meet Mark, so he hustles down the sidewalk until he reaches the hedges of the park and then navigates the walkways by memory.

He hasn’t been to the park very often; the last time was with Taeyong and Yuta when they were on The Origin tour, but it’s one of Johnny’s favourite places in Chicago. He likes the little patch of green in between the tall concrete buildings, though now it reminds him a bit of the Botanical Gardens in Sydney. Johnny shakes his head as he rounds the last bend. He can’t let himself be distracted now. 

Johnny spots Mark easily; he’s sitting on the steps leading up to the bean, dressed in all black with a cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s staring off into space, his phone twirling between his fingers. For a moment, Johnny just pauses, really takes him in. He looks -- young. Sad and lost and in search of something to tether him to the ground since Johnny let him go. Johnny won’t be so stupid this time.

“Hey,” he says, walking up slowly, like he’s approaching a spooked animal. When Mark looks up at him, Johnny figures he might as well be.

Mark makes no move to stand up, so Johnny sits himself down on the steps next to Mark, a little bit of space in between them. 

“Hi,” Mark says. His voice sounds just as croaky as earlier. 

Johnny bites his lip and says, “I’m glad you came.”

Mark shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, _What else could I do?_ He doesn’t offer anything else, so Johnny forges ahead.

“I, uh, had a lot of time to think about us. Or, myself, mostly, I guess.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mark whispers. He pulls his glasses off and rubs at his eyes with one hand. They’re already red-rimmed and sparkly looking, like Mark will cry at the drop of a hat. 

“Mark,” Johnny says. He reaches out, puts a hand on Mark’s exposed knee. Less than a week ago he’d pressed kisses there while they fucked. “Look at me.”

Mark bites his lip, but he turns to face Johnny. His expression is heart-breaking, and Johnny would like nothing more than to be able to pull Mark into a hug, but he knows he hasn’t earned that yet. He swipes his thumb over Mark’s knee cap and says, “I’m really sorry.”

Mark shrugs again. “I know you are,” he says, turning away again.

Johnny didn’t think this conversation would be easy, but it’s harder when Mark is so despondent. Still, he can’t give up. “I’m sorry about everything. All the way back to the first time we did this. You’re right, I am selfish. Back then, I didn’t want to believe that you were hurting more than I was. I don’t think I could understand that you would have actual reasons for the things you said. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, and I’m sorry that I never tried to help you afterwards. I hope you weren’t too lonely.”

Mark hunches in on himself, tucks his face against his knees and sobs. Johnny throws his caution to the wind and closes the tiny gap between them, throws his arm over Mark’s shoulder and rubs his arm. 

“I was upset with myself, for leaving you alone,” he murmurs, ducking his head down so he can speak into Mark’s ear. “But I was scared, too. I was scared to let myself love you again because -- because I didn’t want to get my heart broken again. This trip has reminded me of all the things I loved most about you, and all the new things that I can learn to love about you. I was just afraid you’d rip it all out of my hands, and because of that I walked away from you again. I made a big mistake, Mark. Can you forgive me?”

Mark’s shoulders shake, but he turns his head so he can look at Johnny. Their faces are so close together their noses are practically brushing. 

“I hate you,” Mark says. It comes out a little garbled and watery. “If you ever leave me again I’m going to sic Yuta on you.”

Johnny laughs; he can’t help it. He tugs Mark in closer and presses a kiss to his forehead, knocking his hat askew. “Yeah, I don’t doubt you would,” he whispers. “It’s okay, I’m sure Taeyong would help him bury the body after.”

Mark giggles, a small soft sound that Johnny cherishes. He hates when Mark cries, hates even more when he’s the reason for the tears. The laughter feels earned.

“I’m sorry too, hyung,” Mark says, sitting up a little and wiping at his face with the collar of his t-shirt. He puts his glasses back on.

“What for?” Johnny asks. 

Mark shrugs, jostling Johnny’s arm across his shoulders. “I feel like I let things fester for too long. If we’d talked about it sooner, if I tried harder instead of just trying to piss you off for your attention, maybe we wouldn’t have ended up like this.”

Johnny laughs and shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, baby,” he says. “What’s passed is past and this time, it was all on me. I promise, I’m with you till the end.”

Mark shoots him a blinding grin before dropping his head onto Johnny’s shoulder. “Good,” he says. “Because I don’t think I’m ever letting you go again.”

“Fine by me,” Johnny replies. “Totally fine by me.”

They take some pictures in front of the bean because Mark still hadn’t been. In fact, he’d spent most of his trip holed up in their hotel room crying.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, which just makes Johnny frown more. “And I know you’re going to feel really bad about it, so don’t. I was sad so I cried and you were sad so you whined about it to Taeyong-hyung and your mum.” He shoots Johnny a silly smile.

“Mark,” Johnny whines, but he nudges Mark over to the sculpture with a soft smile.

Mark’s face is largely still red and blotchy from all the crying, so they pose him so that he’s artfully looking down, cap obscuring his face. Despite complaining about the lack of colour in his wardrobe, he looks good in all black against the bright silver of the sculpture, the colours of other tourists milling around them. Contrasting.

“What else do you want to do today?” Johnny asks once they’ve taken all the photos they want. “I feel like maybe you’ve wasted part of your stay here.”

“It’s not like I’ve never been to Chicago before, Johnny,” Mark says, lacing their fingers together as Johnny leads them back to his car. 

“Yeah, and what have you seen? My neighbourhood and the United Center,” Johnny says with a laugh. “Let’s go to the pier. I think you’ll like that.”

“If you say so,” Mark replies easily. “I trust you.”

Three little words strung together to form a sentence that makes Johnny’s heart balloon in his chest. He brings their joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss against Mark’s knuckles. “Thanks,” he says genuinely. 

The drive is short, but it would have taken them half an hour to walk and Johnny isn’t eager to spend more time in the sun than he has to. He parks the car in another garage on the pier and drags Mark out to see the sights.

“Wow,” Mark says, looking around appreciatively. “This is really cool.”

Johnny spoils Mark. It helps ease the guilt that still lingers in his chest, and Mark clearly knows what he’s doing but doesn’t comment on it anyway. They wander around the pier hand-in-hand, and any time Mark points something out, Johnny buys it for him.

“Your credit card bill is going to be huge when we get back home,” Mark points out as he licks at his lactose-free popsicle. Johnny opted for a vanilla cone. 

“It’s worth it if I get to see you smile,” Johnny says, which makes Mark groan.

“You’re so cheesy, hyung,” he says, but he looks pleased all the same.

The only thing Johnny has to needle Mark on is the ferris wheel. It’s the main attraction on the pier and Johnny’s never been on this one; they’d demolished the old one and replaced it when he’d moved to Korea. Mark is reluctant, though.

“It’s really tall, hyung,” he says nervously. 

Johnny squeezes his hand. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he says. It reminds him of the Eiffel Tower; it feels like a lifetime ago. “But you’ve proven to me time and time again how brave you are. I think you’ll be okay.”

Mark bites his lip. He swings their hands back and forth, like it will give him an extra minute. Johnny would wait all day if it made Mark more comfortable.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I think -- okay. Let’s go.”

Johnny pays for their tickets and they get ushered into a line that’s fairly long but moves quickly. Mark bounces on the balls of his feet the closer they get until Johnny wraps an arm around his waist and draws him into his chest.

“Relax,” he whispers into Mark’s ear. “If you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”

“You already paid for it,” Mark points out, muffled by Johnny’s shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” Johnny replies. They’re at the front of the line now. “Last chance, Markie.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He untucks himself from Johnny and squares his shoulder as their car pulls up to the loading station. The passengers get off and the attendant waves them on. Before they know it, the doors are sliding shut and they’re moving.

Johnny sits down on one of the seats and tugs Mark into his lap. As an afterthought, he pulls the vlogging camera out of Mark’s backpack. “Should we film a little for the fans?” he asks, kissing the side of Mark’s neck.

“Are you going to keep it family friendly?” Mark asks, squirming a little from where Johnny’s hair tickles his skin.

“Don’t I always?” Johnny asks. Mark just scoffs and leans forward to turn the camera on.

It’s probably a good distraction. Mark babbles to the camera as they climb higher, and by the time they’ve reached the apex, he’s visibly relaxed. Johnny rubs a hand across Mark’s stomach, out of sight of the camera, smiles at Mark talking about the Cloud Gate.

“It’s just so -- silver. And shiny. And there were no seams. That was weird, wasn’t it, hyung? And -- oh! We’re at the top!”

Mark shifts in Johnny’s lap and turns the camera so it can look out the window. They get a clear, unobstructed view of the skyline: buildings so tall they would disappear into the clouds on an overcast day, boats on the river heading out towards the lake. Mark makes appreciative noises, and while the camera is turned away, Johnny presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he whispers so the camera doesn’t pick it up. Mark nods his head. 

“This is really cool,” he says. “Thanks for convincing me to go, hyung.”

“Anything for you,” Johnny says. He’s sure Mark is rolling his eyes. 

They put the camera away when the wheel starts its second go-around. Once Mark’s got the camera tucked into his bag, he drops it on the floor of the car and turns around so that he’s straddling Johnny’s lap. He loops his arms around Johnny’s neck.

Mark’s eyes are already looking back to normal, and his face isn’t quite so puffy anymore. The brim of his hat casts a shadow against his face, so Johnny removes one hand from Mark’s hip and flips the hat around. 

“Hi,” he says. Mark giggles.

“Hi,” Mark echoes. He leans in closer. “Is this okay?”

“Sure,” Johnny replies. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Mark bites his lip and shrugs, turning his head away for a moment. “I guess -- I keep thinking that this is too good to be true. Like Paris, but better because now there isn’t an axe hanging over our heads. I keep thinking maybe this is a dream and I’ll wake up in the hotel bed again and you won’t be there.”

Johnny doesn’t wait for permission. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Mark’s lips, squeezing Mark’s hips when Mark melts into it.

“I want to erase all the doubt in your mind,” Johnny whispers, lips catching on each word. “I know it will take time, but I want to earn your trust.”

“I trust you, hyung,” Mark says, but Johnny shakes his head, turns so he can press kisses against Mark’s cheek and along his jaw.

“You think you do,” he says. “But part of your heart doesn’t, and that’s okay. You’re just trying to protect yourself. I get it. But one day, I hope I can prove to you that I can be trustworthy, that I can hold your heart again and you won’t be afraid I’ll break it.”

Mark sighs as Johnny kisses the spot just behind his ear. There’s a bruise there from Paris that’s beginning to fade, so Johnny works it back up so that it’ll be blooming dark purple again by tomorrow.

“Johnny,” Mark gasps, hips rolling against Johnny’s.

“I love you,” Johnny whispers, stilling Mark’s hips, much to Mark’s protesting. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner on the ferris wheel.

“I love you, too,” Mark says breathlessly. When he pulls back, his eyes are glassy again, this time with desire. He kisses Johnny again, careful and sweet, before tucking his head against Johnny’s shoulder, watching the skyline out the back window.

Johnny hugs Mark close. It took a long time to get here, but they’ve arrived nonetheless. The work isn’t over yet, but Johnny feels happy -- truly happy -- for the first time in a long time. It feels perfect.

Johnny’s mother calls them mid-afternoon and demands that they come back to the house for dinner. 

“Eomma,” Johnny complains, but they’re already in the car, merging back onto the I-90. Mark’s holding the phone out to him on speaker. “We’re going to see you again on Friday.”

“Wouldn’t you rather this reunion happen before the big birthday party?” his mom asks. “What if we decided to give Mark a stern talking to? Won’t that dampen the mood.”

“Oh my god,” Mark mutters, pulling off his hat and ruffling his hair. 

“They’re not going to grill you, don’t worry,” Johnny says in English. “If anything, I should be the worried one.”

“Yah, John-ah,” his mom says. “Just hurry home, but drive carefully. Dinner will be ready.”

“Thank you, Mama Suh,” Mark chimes brightly, which makes Johnny’s mother laugh and hang up the phone.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Johnny asks. He takes the phone out of Mark’s hand and drops it into one of the cubbies under the radio. Then, he laces their fingers together.

“Sure,” Mark replies easily. “She’s right, too. If your parents want to have a talk, I’d rather we get it all over with before Friday anyway. Then it won’t be awkward.”

Johnny squeezes his hand. “My brave baby,” he coos, which just makes Mark laugh.

With how excited his mom was to see Mark, Johnny’s a little surprised she’s not out waiting for them on the front lawn. As it is, they manage to take two steps into the kitchen before Johnny’s mother is drawing Mark in for a bone-crushing hug.

“Markeu-yah,” his mom croons, kissing both of Mark’s cheeks. Johnny snickers when Mark’s face turns a hilarious shade of red.

“Hi, Mama Suh,” Mark mumbles, trying his best to bow with his cheeks pinched in between Johnny’s mom’s fingers. 

“Yah, sit, sit. I have lots of food for you, and watermelon for dessert,” she says, pushing Mark down into a chair. Johnny easily slides into the seat next to him.

“I thought that was for Friday,” he says.

“Did you see the size of the watermelon?” his father asks, coming in from outside with more galbi. Johnny suspects the menu will look very similar to his first night at home.”We’ll have enough for Friday, still, don’t worry.”

Dinner is easygoing. Mark catches his parents up on some of his more recent projects. He asks about what they’ve been up to lately.

“Actually,” Johnny’s father says, “we’re painting a fence.”

“Oh?” Mark asks politely.

“You’ve really done it now,” Johnny mutters.

“I know it’s not an ideal way to spend your vacation, but did you want to help us with it tomorrow?”

Mark glances around the table. “Uh?” he says.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Johnny says. “I can almost guarantee that the fence will still be here, barely painted, the next time we come back.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t mind,” Mark says carefully. Johnny eyes him. “I mean, were there a lot of other things you wanted to do in the city, Johnny?”

Admittedly, not really. But they could spend the day at the beach or wandering around instead of painting the fence in the backyard. 

“Johnny just doesn’t want to help his appa,” his mom says. “He’s being a bad son.”

“You could help Appa, too,” Johnny points out. Beside him, Mark giggles. 

“Yah, and who would have lunch ready for you if I helped too?” 

Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t mind helping,” Mark says after a moment. He’s looking at Johnny, though, like he’s asking for permission to spend time with his family. 

“If that’s what you want,” Johnny says easily. 

“Excellent,” his father says. “You should come over early, though. It’s best to paint in the morning before it gets too hot.”

Mark looks a little stricken about the idea of getting up early. Johnny laughs and leans over to press a kiss against Mark’s temple. He doesn’t miss the way his mom’s eyes seem to sparkle.

They wash the dishes after dinner, Mark sinking his hands into the soapy water while Johnny dries and stacks the dishes away in the cupboards. It feels soft and domestic, and it warms Johnny’s heart. He wonders if he can have this when they go home, in his apartment: Mark padding around in worn clothing, doing chores with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“I think that plate is dry,” Mark says, pointing to where Johnny is just polishing the last dinner plate. He blushes and tucks it away into the cupboard.

“Thanks, smartypants,” he says. It makes Mark laugh.

Johnny’s parents are sitting in the living room when they finish, but Johnny’s mom jumps to her feet as soon as they arrive. “Oh, Mark, help me with the watermelon,” she says, sweeping Mark’s hand out of Johnny’s and dragging him back towards the kitchen. Mark shoots Johnny a panicked look, but Johnny knows he can’t step in. His mom wants to have a talk with Mark, and whether it’s good or bad, Johnny knows it’s not his place to intervene. He sits down on the couch next to his dad and waits.

“It’s nothing bad,” his dad says. He’s solving a sudoku puzzle on his phone. “She just wants to caution him.”

“Against what?” Johnny asks. 

“How cruel the world can be,” his dad replies. He fills in several squares in his puzzle at once. “She just wants him to know we support you both, even if there are people who won’t.”

For the first time through this entire ordeal, Johnny feels his eyes well up with tears. His dad looks mildly alarmed, but he puts a hand on Johnny’s knee and squeezes.

“Thanks, Appa,” Johnny murmurs.

“Of course,” his dad says, then adds. “Your eomma might also be telling Mark that if you break his heart again she’ll smack you upside the head.”

Johnny lets out a watery laugh just as Mark and his mother return to the living room, a bowl of watermelon slices between them.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern. 

Johnny bobs his head, meets his mother’s eye. She smiles at him. “I’m perfect, thanks,” he says, and accepts a slice of watermelon. “Absolutely perfect.”

Johnny goes back to the hotel that night. He packs an overnight bag and drops it in the doorway in favour of hauling Mark in and kissing him the way he’s been wanting to since the ferris wheel. Mark whimpers into his mouth, deepening the kiss immediately, and Johnny feels his heart melt.

He fucks Mark on his back with slow, measured thrusts until Mark is squirming on the bed. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, but unlike earlier in the day, these are happy tears. Mark begs for Johnny to come closer, so Johnny blankets Mark, hips grinding in deep until Mark comes between them, smearing his release between their bellies. Johnny isn’t too far behind.

After cleaning up, Johnny curls himself around Mark’s back, holding him close. “Hyung,” Mark murmurs into the dark, voice sleepy and sated. “I’m really happy.”

Johnny kisses the back of Mark’s head. “Good,” he says, feeling sleep tug at him. “I am too.”

Johnny’s dad wakes them up the next morning by calling Johnny at some ungodly hour of the morning. “You’re still coming over, right?” he asks. “I have the paint primer all ready. I won’t even make you do too much sanding.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there soon,” Johnny says around a yawn. He kisses Mark awake and then stumbles into the shower.

Apparently, when Johnny’s dad had said he wouldn’t make them sand the fence, he meant he wouldn’t make _Mark_ sand the fence. Upon arriving at the house, Johnny is given a piece of sandpaper while Mark is offered a paintbrush. 

“Have fun,” Mark says, because he’s a brat.

Even though they’re just working on menial tasks, it’s sort of nice to just slow down and be normal for once. Johnny doesn’t like sanding the fence, but he likes listening to Mark’s laughter ring around the backyard. He likes watching his mother smile from the kitchen window as she makes them something for lunch. He likes the quiet way his dad shows Mark the best way to spread the primer around. 

Johnny manages to finish sanding the fence that day, and Mark and his dad prime half of it. When they come back inside, Johnny feels sweaty and like his arms are made of jell-o. 

“John-ah,” his mom calls.

“Yes,” Johnny replies from where he’s sprawled on the couch, his legs tossed over Mark’s lap.

“Do you think you could go to the grocery store for me? I need some more flour for the birthday cake.”

Johnny blinks at her. “I don’t think I can lift anything heavier than a pound,” he admits, which makes Mark snicker. 

“I’ll go with you,” he offers. “If you drive, I can carry the flour.”

“You complained about our cooler in Sydney two weeks ago,” Johnny points out. “And now you want to carry a kilo of flour?”

Mark pouts. “It’s my cake,” he complains.

“And mine,” his mother pipes up.

“Please, Johnny? Aren’t we the most important people in your life?” Mark asks. His eyes are wide and imploring, like a wounded puppy, and Johnny is so, so weak.

“Fine,” he mutters. Mark and his mother cheer. “Let’s go.”

They end up at the Target that Johnny had taken Mark and Doyoung to on The Origin tour. Mark laughs when they pull into the parking lot. 

“It’s the closest grocery store,” Johnny whines. Mark just kisses his cheek and gets out of the car.

They grab a wheelie basket and thread their way through the aisles, shopping aimlessly for themselves. They’re in an aisle with greeting cards -- because they both need a birthday card for Johnny’s mom -- when Mark says, “This has been really nice.”

Johnny looks up from the card he had been reading. It was too cheesy, anyway. “This?” he asks.

Mark shrugs. He plucks a card out of the display, reads it, and puts it back. “I just mean. Getting to hang out with your parents and just be … normal for a bit.”

Johnny thinks about working on the fence earlier. He’d thought maybe Mark had agreed because it would put him in his parents’ good graces, but maybe he’d just wanted the chance to do something dumb and ordinary. Johnny forgets sometimes how young Mark had been when he’d joined the company, how much of his childhood he’d given up to chase a dream.

“We can come here any time,” Johnny says. He finally finds a blank card with a nice cover and drops it into their basket. “My parents will always welcome us.”

Mark bobs his head and picks his own card. “I’m glad,” he says, then adds, “We should visit my parents when we get back to Korea.”

Mark won’t meet his eye when Johnny looks at him. There’s a pinched twist to his mouth, like he’s unsure of what he’s just said. “Are they -- okay with us?” Johnny asks.

“I mean, I guess,” Mark says. “They’re not really happy, but as long as I’m happy I guess they’re okay with it. I think they’d still prefer if I met a girl and settled down and had a couple kids or whatever, but that’s not what I want.”

There’s no one else in the aisle, so Johnny lets himself step close and pull Mark into a hug. Mark goes easily, the handle of their pull cart clattering back against the basket as he brings his arms up to wrap around Johnny. 

“Things will be okay,” Johnny whispers, kissing the shell of Mark’s ear. 

“I know,” Mark replies. He takes a deep breath and when he lets it out, his whole body shudders. “I’ve come to terms with a lot of things over the past couple years. That’s one of them.”

Johnny holds him for a moment longer before stepping back. He sweeps some of the hair off of Mark’s forehead. It’s starting to get long; he’ll need a cut when they get back home. 

“Come on,” Johnny says, grabbing the handle of the basket with one hand and Mark’s hand with the other. “Let’s go get the flour before we forget why we came in the first place.”

Johnny wakes Mark up on his 23rd birthday with a blowjob. 

It’s way harder than it looks, shimmying under the blankets, and it’s certainly not as sexy as he had hoped it would be, but Mark wakes up delirious with pleasure and comes with a shout a few minutes later, so all in all, it feels like a success. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” Johnny says against Mark’s lips when Mark hauls him up the bed for a kiss. 

Mark preens at the pet name. “Thanks,” he says with a sigh, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s neck. “It’s been great so far.”

They lie around in bed for most of the morning. Johnny orders them room service, climbing out of bed to find the menu on the desk across the room. On his way back, he grabs Mark’s birthday present, wrapped in a bag and paper he’d found at his parents’ house the night before.

“Ooh,” Mark says, making grabby hands at the package. “What is it?”

“Open it, duh,” Johnny replies, settling back into bed. Mark curls around his side immediately and rips the paper out of the bag. He eyes the jacket carefully when he pulls it out.

“This isn’t the really expensive one, is it?” he asks, examining the label.

Johnny laughs. “No,” he replies. “It’s sort of a knock-off I guess, but it still wasn’t cheap. Just not, 5000 euros.”

Mark laughs and puts the jacket back in the bag before dragging Johnny down for another kiss. They makeout until the food comes, and Johnny’s about to get out of bed to retrieve it when Mark beats him to it.

“Wait,” Mark says, trying his best not to trip on the sheets he’s managed to trail onto the floor. He grabs Johnny’s discarded t-shirt from the night before and drags it on over his head. “I have something for you, too.”

“You realize it’s _your_ birthday, right?” Johnny asks, bemused. “You’re supposed to receive gifts, not hand them out.”

Mark sticks his tongue out at Johnny and answers the door. A moment later he’s back, wheeling a silver cart in front of him. He leaves it at the foot of the bed in favour of searching for something in his suitcase.

When he comes back, he's holding a plastic bag and looks a little sheepish. "Here," he says, thrusting the bag at Johnny. Johnny accepts it gratefully. "Sorry it's not wrapped."

"Don't worry about it," Johnny replies. He reaches his hand into the bag and pulls a tall black box out. "La nuit," he reads, trying his best to wrap his tongue around the pronunciation. "You trying to tell me I smell bad, Markie?"

Mark's face turns a brilliant shade of red and his hands twist nervously in the hem of his borrowed shirt. "N-no," he stutters. "I just -- I saw it when I was waiting for you at the Galeries Lafayette. Or, like, the lady at the counter gave me a sample and I liked it and I thought you'd like it? But if it's bad you can just. Leave it here, haha."

Johnny watches Mark splutter his way through his explanation with fondness. When Mark finally trails off with an awkward laugh, Johnny extends a hand, beckoning Mark forward until he can curl a hand around Mark's waist and drag him into his lap.

"I mean, I haven't smelled it yet, but I love it," he says, pressing a kiss to Mark's cheek. "I love that you were thinking of me. Thank you, baby."

Mark whines, but he lets Johnny steal soft kisses from him anyway. "You're too nice," he mutters.

Johnny smiles, kisses Mark one more time, and then ushers him towards the breakfast cart. It's a stark contrast from earlier in the week when Mark had called him mean. They've pulled a 180 since then, and Johnny's still cautious, conscious of how quickly they're moving, but -- he's enjoying it, too. He's letting himself have this moment.

"Hyung," Mark calls, and Johnny looks up from where he's been staring at the cologne. "Come eat this. It's really good."

Johnny grins and puts the cologne on the bedside table, crawling down the bed until he can sit next to Mark. "I don't even remember what I ordered," he admits.

"Wow," Mark replies. He cuts a piece of a waffle and holds the fork up for Johnny expectantly. "You're getting old."

"It's your birthday," Johnny points out. "You turned a year older."

"You're right," Mark says, faux surprised. "I'm practically ancient now."

"Oh shut up," Johnny says with a laugh. He pushes at Mark's shoulder, which makes Johnny laugh too. It has been a great day so far, he thinks. Hopefully it will only get better from here.

It’s not much of a birthday party with only four people, but it’s still nice.

Johnny’s dad grills hamburgers for them while his mom makes a weird assortment of Korean side dishes to go with it. “Have you ever tried kimchi on a burger?” his mom asks as she spoons some into a dish. “It’s actually pretty good. Also, roll your kimbap tighter or else it will fall apart.”

“Yes, Eomma,” Johnny says diligently.

Through the kitchen window, Johnny’s dad is teaching Mark how to flip a burger. Mark looks apprehensive, largely due to the flames that keep popping up between the grills every time little drips of fat fall off the burgers, but Johnny’s dad holds his wrist tightly as they slide the spatula under a burger and flip it over in one smooth motion. When the grill flares up again, Johnny can hear Mark’s startled shout through the window.

“You really love him, don’t you?” his mom asks, nudging him in the ribs. She’s looking out the window as well. Johnny’s dad has taken over the flipping. 

“Yeah, he’s not bad,” Johnny says, which earns him a slap on the arm.

“Don’t break his heart, Youngho,” she says. It’s rare for her to break out his Korean name.

“Eomma,” Johnny whines.

He feels her wrap an arm around Johnny’s waist and squeeze him tightly. “But you tell me if he breaks your heart again too,” she whispers. “I’ll hit him with my frying pan. You know the one? I always use it to cook tteokbokki in.”

“Oh my god,” Johnny mutters as Mark comes traipsing in through the sliding door. “Not the tteokbokki pan.”

“What about the tteokbokki pan?” Mark asks.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Johnny’s mother says, releasing Johnny and hurrying over to Mark. “But could you help me put some of these dishes out? The burgers will be ready soon.” Johnny can hear his mom chattering away as she shoves two dishes into Mark’s hands and nudges him towards the dining room, trailing after Mark with her own set of bowls.

It feels good. His dad comes in through the sliding door with the burgers in a pan. There’s one without cheese on it, likely for Mark. Even that adds to the picture Johnny is building in his head: something easy and comforting. Something that feels like home.

After dinner, they sit around in the living room opening gifts. Mark got his mom a pretty silk scarf from Tokyo and a bottle of Chanel perfume from Paris. Johnny gives her the candle from Sydney and a cheque for an amount of money that just about makes her cry. They both have a handful of other souvenirs to give out as well, the lumpy plastic bag between them shrinking with every trinket they pull out.

“And then I saw this at the Sydney Opera House and thought you might like it,” Mark continues, pulling out a small replica of the building and setting it on the table. When he looks through the bag, there’s nothing left. “Oh good,” he says. “I might be able to get all my stuff home to Korea now.”

Johnny grins and drapes his arm over Mark’s shoulders.

“This is too much,” his mom says, staring wide-eyed at the assortment of goods on table. There’s a box of chocolates and a mini Eiffel Tower and coasters and tea towels. “Now I feel bad we just got you one gift.”

Mark laughs. “Don’t be, Mama Suh,” he says. “The souvenirs are just little things. They’re not part of your birthday present.”

Johnny’s mom smiles. She picks up a bag at her feet and walks it over to Mark, pressing a kiss to his forehead in the process. Johnny watches Mark’s cheeks go pink. 

“It’s not much,” she says, sitting down again, “but I hope you can find some use for it.”

With shaking hands, Mark pulls the paper out of the bag and peers inside. Johnny tries his best not to be nosy, but after a long moment of Mark just staring into the bag, he says, “Can I see, Markie?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mark says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a book. Upon closer inspection, it’s a photo album. The preview window on the front already has a picture in it; Johnny recognizes it as one that his mom took of him and Mark when they were visiting for The Origin tour way back in 2019. He remembers Doyoung had been roped into helping his dad understand the plot of the drama his brother was in at the time, so his mom had asked them to pose for the photo. Johnny also remembers being slightly buzzed on a case of beer they’d picked up at Target.

“We know Johnny likes to take photographs of everything,” his dad says, leaning forward in his seat. “We thought maybe you’d like a place to put some of them.”

“It’s really nice,” Mark says. His voice sounds suspiciously shaky. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

Johnny’s mom looks overly pleased with herself, and his dad looks relieved. Johnny hadn’t realized they’d agonized so much over what to get for Mark. “Eomma,” he says. “Isn’t there cake? And watermelon?”

“Oh,” his mom says, jumping to her feet. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll be right back.”

She disappears into the kitchen, dragging her husband with her, and leaving Johnny and Mark alone in the living room.

“It’s nice,” Johnny says, nodding towards where Mark is absentmindedly running his hand over the cover of the album. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Mark breathes. He seems far away, like he’s maybe already deciding what pictures to put in the album. “I’m -- this is really nice.”

“You deserve it,” Johnny says. He tips Mark’s chin up and guides him so that they can kiss, gentle and chaste. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Mark sighs against his lips. “Best birthday ever,” he whispers. 

His parents come back into the room, his dad holding the birthday cake with candles and his mom following with a bowl of cubed watermelon. They’re already singing, so Johnny and Mark join in. When they’re done, the cake is sitting on the coffee table between them.

“You get half and I get half,” his mom says, gesturing to the candles on the cake.

Mark laughs. “Okay,” he says. “You go first. Make a wish.”

Johnny’s mom rolls her eyes, like she couldn’t possibly have anything to wish for. Still, she closes her eyes, grasps her hands together, and blows out half the candles.

Mark slides off his seat on the couch and pauses, observing the candles. For a moment, he’s perfectly still. Then, he puts his hands in front of his chest in a prayer, ducks his head for a long moment, and then blows out the candles on his half of the cake.

“What did you wish for?” Johnny asks when his mom takes the cake back into the kitchen to slice it up.

Mark gives him a funny look, like he’s not sure if he should tell Johnny or not, so Johnny pokes him in the ribs, making him giggle. 

“I wished for the same thing I wished for at Point Zero,” he says. Johnny shoots him an inquiring look. “I wished for something good. With you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 5sos' "lover of mine"


	7. love me now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the city that has always had my heart

Johnny’s parents see them off at the airport.

“Come back and visit more often,” his mum says, wrapping Johnny in a hug. She steps back, reaches into her tote bag, and hands Johnny two containers of food. “We don’t see you nearly as often as we’d like.”

“Yes, you can help me finish the fence,” his dad says, patting Mark on the back.

“Appa, I will literally pay someone to help you paint that when we go back to Korea.”

His dad just laughs.

Mark hugs Johnny’s mum goodbye, ducking his head a little so she can whisper something in his ear. When she steps back, she pats Mark lovingly on the cheek and smiles.

“I love you,” she tells them. 

“I love you, too,” Johnny and Mark echo back.

“Let me know you landed safely in Vancouver.”

“Yes, Eomma.”

“And don’t lose those containers. I expect them to be returned in our Christmas package this year.”

“Yes, Eomma.”

“Don’t be idiots and get into more fights.”

“Yes, Eomma.”

Johnny can’t help but grin as he slides his arm across Mark’s shoulders, drawing him in close. His mum coos at them and then ushers them towards security. They have plenty of time before their flight, but Johnny suspects she wants to get rid of them just so she won’t start crying in the airport.

“Bye,” Mark calls as Johnny hands his passport and boarding pass to airport security. 

“Bye,” Johnny’s parents call back. Johnny gives them one final wave before he heads off towards the scanners and x-ray machines, Mark right behind him.

Vancouver is just as awe-inspiring now as it was the last time Johnny was here. He can’t help but stare at the mountains as they fly over, the way they dwarf even the skyscrapers in the city centres below. 

“I can’t believe you grew up here,” Johnny says as they climb into a cab at the airport. Johnny gives the driver the address to their hotel and watches the meter tick higher the further they go.

“I mean, technically I didn’t grow up in Vancouver,” Mark says. “I grew up in one of the cities outside.”

Johnny shoots him a skeptical look and Mark sighs. “There’s like, Vancouver the city and Metro Vancouver, which is made up of several small cities.”

“We’re in Richmond right now,” the cab driver says helpfully. He veers onto an off-ramp and adds, “and now we’re in Vancouver.”

“They’re not like suburbs in Chicago,” Mark adds. “Each city has its own mayor and whatnot.”

Johnny blinks. “Why are Canadians so confusing,” he moans, slumping into his seat. Mark laughs and swats his thigh. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Mark whines, clearly embarrassed. Johnny just winks at him from across the back seat, which makes Mark blush harder.

When they finally make it up to their hotel room, Johnny is surprised to find only one bed again. Ever since Paris, the hotel rooms have had one single king-sized bed. He doesn’t mind, especially now that he and Mark are -- together, but Johnny wonders what the company was thinking when they booked the rooms. 

Mark flops on the bed immediately. “Ah,” he breathes. Johnny watches him twist around a bit, listening to the way Mark’s spine pops after enough squirming around.

“Now that you’ve thoroughly mussed up the sheets,” Johnny says, sitting down next to Mark, “is there anything you want to do today?” They have a shorter stay in Vancouver than they did in Chicago or Paris, and it just reminds Johnny that after this they have to head home. Their little bubble of freedom is rapidly dwindling on them.

Mark sits up and drops his head onto Johnny’s shoulder, nuzzling into him like a particularly affectionate cat. “Let’s go on a date,” he suggests.

Johnny feels a zing of pleasure shoot through him. Though a lot of the day trips they’ve taken on this vacation so far could probably be considered dates, this is the first time Mark’s ever addressed it as such. It reminds Johnny that even though they’ve talked about feelings and issued apologies, they haven’t defined what they are. Part of him is apprehensive; this particular conversation is what brought them crashing to the ground the first time.

“Where do you want to go?” Johnny asks quietly. 

Mark looks up at him from under long lashes. He grins and presses a kiss to the underside of Johnny’s chin. Johnny rolls his eyes. 

They end up at the public market. It’s a nice day, with plenty of people milling about and dodging the seagulls that track anyone with so much as a piece of candy in their hands. They wander through art galleries mixed in between produce stands, past restaurants that sit side-by-side with toy shops. There’s so much to look at.

Johnny buys a couple of postcards at a card shop in one of the buildings while Mark wanders next door to look at stationary. When Johnny joins him, Mark’s in deep conversation with a sales associate who is showing him the different functions of what Johnny considers to be two very similar notebooks. Mark seems thoroughly engrossed, though, so Johnny wanders off to look at a display of pens. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Mark asks, joining Johnny at the display. He plucks a pen at random and tests it against the piece of paper the shop has offered for such an occasion.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “What about you?”

Mark holds up a notebook with a grin. Johnny is not entirely sure what makes it different from other notebooks that can be bought anywhere else, but he doesn’t comment. He follows Mark to the counter and when the sales associate mentions the total, Johnny hands over his credit card.

“Hyung,” Mark says, wallet still held in his hands. “You don’t have to.”

Johnny shrugs as he signs his name on the receipt offered to him. “No, but I wanted to.”

Mark preens and accepts the brown paper bag with his notebook in it. He looks so happy, Johnny can’t help but smile back. It feels nice to be able to do small things for Mark like this.

They stop in at a chocolate shop before finding somewhere to sit out along the water. Johnny’s not really sure what to call it; it’s not quite a harbour like Sydney harbour had been, but there are boats out on the water and moored along the banks. He watches them all as they sail under the bridge that towers above them before snapping a photo of the water, and then one of Mark.

“I think I have chocolate all over my face,” Mark complains when he catches Johnny aiming his phone at him. 

“You’re good,” Johnny says with a laugh. He shows Mark the picture after, which just makes Mark grimace.

“It’s not good,” he complains. 

“It’s fine,” Johnny says. “Don’t be such a baby.” He tosses his arm over Mark’s shoulder and Mark leans in immediately, resting his head against Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny snaps another photo of the two of them together.

“Your baby,” Mark mutters, just low enough that Johnny thinks he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Yeah?” he asks and watches as the tips of Mark’s ears turn red.

“Uh, well.”

Johnny shifts so they can look at each other again. Mark won’t meet his eye, more out of embarrassment than anything else though. Johnny offers him a small smile and tilts his chin up.

“Mark Lee,” he says, as seriously as he can muster. “Are you asking to be my boyfriend?”

If possible, Mark’s face turns even redder than it already was. “I - “ He stutters, then cuts himself off. He runs a hand through his hair. 

Two years ago, Johnny would’ve taken this apprehension as rejection, but he knows better now. He waits patiently, and after a long moment, Mark nods his head.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, glancing up at Johnny from under his bangs. They’re so long now; Johnny brushes them away gently. “I -- will you be my boyfriend, Johnny?”

Johnny laughs. There are plenty of people around, but he doesn’t care. He tugs Mark in for a quick kiss, their lips barely pressing together before Johnny’s pulling back to laugh again, relieved. 

“Yeah, baby,” he says. He twines their hands together. “Yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Mark’s grin rivals the mid-afternoon sun shining above them. He turns back to look out over the water, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “Cool,” he says, like it’s the best thing he can think of to describe their new reality. “Really, really cool.”

It’s a nice day. 

Johnny spends it feeling a bit like he’s floating on cloud nine. It’s so easy to walk around the city with Mark, duck into shops to look at clothes or souvenirs or books. They spend their evening meandering around the waterfront, within walking distance of their hotel. Johnny is in love, with both the boy and the view.

“Would you ever move back?” he asks, leaning against the railing that separates him from the water.

Mark shrugs. There’s a light summer breeze that ruffles his hair occasionally. “I mean, there’s nothing really here for me anymore,” he says. “So I don’t really have a good reason to.”

“What if I wanted to move here?”

“Sure,” Mark says. “Wherever -- you know I’ll go wherever you want to go, right?” He looks uncertain, suddenly. Young. It reminds Johnny that Mark has never done this before: been in a relationship. 

“I’ll go wherever you want to go, too,” he says, reaching out so he can hold Mark’s hand. Mark offers him a tentative smile. “And if it’s not here, that’s okay. Seoul, Chicago, Paris. Wherever, Mark.”

Mark sighs. He closes the distance between them so he can lean fully into Johnny, let Johnny wrap him up in a hug. 

“Did you know,” he says, barely a whisper, “that I _did_ tell the board at SM that I wanted you to come with me on this trip.”

It seems like so long ago, when Johnny had been asked to come in and told he would be embarking on the round-the-world trip with Mark. He remembers how angry he had been, how he’d felt like he was being punished somehow. All he wanted was to make music; what Mark had wanted hadn’t mattered to him at all. Funny how things can change in just over a month.

“I wasn’t sure,” Johnny replies. “You were pretty convincing when I confronted you about it.”

Mark laughs. It sounds a little watery. “I was scared you’d somehow find a reason to back out if you knew the truth,” he says. “That if you knew how much I wanted you you’d somehow use it as your excuse to stay home.”

This time, Johnny can read between the lines of what Mark’s saying. He’s not sure when it became so apparent to him again: _I was scared you’d realize how much I love you. I was scared you would tell the board. I was scared of you._

“I didn’t want to go,” Johnny admits, stroking a hand down Mark’s back. Mark shivers, despite how warm it is. “But, even though I complained to everyone about it a lot, I didn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe, subconsciously, I knew that coming with you would be good for us.”

Mark sighs and tilts his head, pressing a light kiss to Johnny’s pulse point. Johnny feels pleasure whip through his veins. “I love you,” Mark whispers into his skin.

There’s too much light pollution to see the stars, even though Johnny tilts his head back, giving Mark more room to mouth gently at his neck. Still, he can imagine them, shining brightly. They’re the same ones that watched over them everywhere on this trip except for Sydney, and they’re the same ones they’ll find back home in Korea, too. 

“I love you, too,” Johnny replies, and tilts Mark face up to kiss him properly.

They spend most of the next day out past the airport in a little town called Steveston. Johnny lets Mark drag him along the wharf and through countless little shops.

“Ooh, maybe I should buy my mum some tea from here,” Mark says, pulling Johnny into a tea shop off the main street. 

“Are you going to have room in your suitcase for it?” Johnny teases. The store is cozy, an assortment of teaware, stationary, and a variety of TinTin prints adorning the walls. Johnny wanders over to the pictures while Mark talks to the lady at the counter.

Maybe he should buy something for his apartment. Not necessarily a cartoon print, but maybe he should look for some art for his walls. He hasn’t really decorated, even though he’s had the place for two years; there just hasn’t really been the time or the place. Johnny’s not even sure why he’s thinking about it now, but one glance at Mark at the counter makes him reconsider.

He and Mark haven’t lived in the same dorm since before they stopped talking to each other. It hadn’t been a conscious arrangement at first, but after their fight, it had made sense that they were separated by floors inside their apartment building. 

Now, though … Johnny can’t help but remember how he’d imagined Mark in an apartment in Paris, how easily he had fit into Johnny’s life in Chicago. It would be easy, now, to accommodate Mark into his home in Korea. It would be harder than living together in the dorms; Johnny didn’t have someone to cook for them all the time, but it could maybe feel something like this. Like a little sliver of privacy in a life that has otherwise always been very public.

“Don’t think too hard,” Mark says, sidling up to him with a small paper bag in one hand. He studies the art prints on the wall. “Doesn’t this kind of look like Chenle from _Chewing Gum_ era?”

Johnny can’t help the ugly snort he lets out. “Oh my god,” he says. “I think I have to buy it for him just because of that.”

They spend at least an hour after that lost inside a bookstore with winding shelves and stacks of books lying in the aisle. Johnny’s tempted to buy half a library’s worth of books, but Mark reminds him that they somehow have to get everything back to Korea by the end of the week.

“We could buy another suitcase,” Johnny suggests with a laugh. Mark frowns. 

“That’s not a good solution,” he says, putting a number of books from Johnny’s stack onto a random discard pile. “That’s not curbing your spending habits, which have been -- frankly -- overzealous this trip.”

“I am not the one that has bought approximately a thousand souvenirs for everyone back home.”

“And that’s why they love me best,” Mark replies with a cheeky wink. 

Johnny sighs and puts a few more books away until he’s down to three. That’s manageable; he can even fit those in his carry-on. “What did you buy for Yuta?” he calls.

Mark pokes his head around a bookshelf. “Better question: what did _you_ buy for Yuta?” Just because we’re together now doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to throttle you on sight.”

“Oh my god,” Johnny whines. He joins Mark around the other side of the bookshelf just to find Mark rifling through a book of poetry. “Did you not tell him we’re dating?”

“I did,” Mark says, “but I think he’s still upset about how Paris ended. I, uh, cried a lot on the phone to him.”

Johnny’s mouth twists. Paris is in the past, but he can’t help but feel bad thinking about how sad and lonely Mark must have been during their first couple days in Chicago. “What should I get him, then?” 

Mark shrugs, which is incredibly unhelpful. Johnny sighs and tucks the thought away in the back of his mind. He’ll have to keep a lookout for something of interest for their friend.

They spend the evening at a night market. It’s been ages since Johnny’s been to something like this; the ones in Seoul are always crowded and Johnny’s always worried about being recognized. This one is largely the same, but no one pays him and Mark any mind. Groups of teenagers weave their way through the crowd, chatting in a mixture of English and Chinese. Another family walks by speaking Cantonese. There’s so much life in such a tiny space; Johnny is amazed.

He manages a few shots on his film camera, and they vlog a little just to have some kind of content for the company, but it’s hard in such a crowded space. Instead, they stick to buying copious amounts of food: meat on skewers marinated in sweet sauces; Korean fried chicken done in their favourite flavours; roasted corn with the husks still hanging off the end. They eat deep fried watermelon for dessert, followed by a Japanese souffle pancake with strawberries, and Taiwanese icy dessert served to them in tall cups.

“Oh my god,” Mark moans as they hunker down at a table under trees decorated with neon lights. “I think you’ll have to roll me back to the hotel. I don’t want to move for another week.”

Johnny laughs, drapes himself across Mark’s back, which just makes Mark groan more. “Just think of all the food we’ve eaten on this trip,” he says. Someone walks by with a cup of boba and Johnny feels Mark perk up underneath him with interest. “We’re going to have to hit the gym so hard if we want to be somewhat functional for SM Town at the end of the summer.”

“Please, don’t remind me,” Mark mutters. “Do you think my limbs will even move the right way, anymore? Do you think I’ve lost all my muscle memory?”

“We’ve been gone for almost a month. I don’t think you’ve forgotten _everything_.” 

“True,” Mark says. “But I think I’m going to have to relearn a lot of choreography.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Johnny says. He sits up, let’s Mark draw himself upright as well. “But until then … do you want boba?”

Mark’s eyes sparkle under the neon lights. “I thought you’d never ask, hyung,” he says, dragging Johnny back into the crowds.

They spend the next day at the beach.

There's no cooler for them to rent, and no weird half tent for them to set up to provide shade, but they make do with what they can find. Johnny buys them some blankets from a gift shop and Mark buys out half a market's snack aisle, and they settle down in the sand for a day of nothing.

"It's not even that much warmer than Sydney and it's actually summer here," Johnny complains as Mark slathers sunscreen across his back. 

"You'd be complaining if it were as hot as it had been in Paris," Mark points out. "There's just no pleasing you, is there?"

Johnny looks over his shoulder at Mark, takes in his fond smile and glowing cheeks. He'd been looking at some photos he'd taken at the beginning of the trip, and it's easy to see how much Mark has physically changed over the past month. His face is fuller, the bags under his eyes have disappeared, and he seems to have this -- glow about him. Johnny can't really explain it, but Mark seems happier and healthier and that's what really matters.

"I mean, with the weather, probably not," Johnny says, answering Mark's question. "But I can think of some other ways to please me."

Mark's face turns a violent shade of red. "We're in public," he hisses, like there's anyone paying attention to them. Everyone is absorbed in their own beach day activities. "And I am not wearing a lot of clothes right now."

Johnny laughs, then offers Mark a coy smile. "Worried about getting turned on, baby?" he asks, voice low and sultry. He watches Mark's Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "Worried about people seeing what I can do to you?'

"Johnny," Mark whines. He wipes his hands off on Johnny's back, spreading the last of the sunscreen, and gets to his feet. "I need to go for a swim," he mutters, adjusting himself slightly. 

Johnny tips his head back and laughs. "You do that," he says. "I'll be here. Waiting."

"You suck," Mark says.

"I could be. Wait till we get back to the hotel."

"Oh my god, go away," Mark complains before taking off for the water. Johnny laughs as Mark splashes into the waves. 

It's going to be hard, going back to being so private about their lives when they get home. Johnny's enjoyed being able to hold Mark's hand in public, being able to kiss Mark whenever he wants. He'll miss the anonymity of traveling around the world as two boys in love, rather than as two members of a globally popular idol group. 

But he's excited, too. 

He’s excited for the opportunity to build a life with Mark. Johnny’s spent a lot of time thinking about his apartment back home since their day in Steveston. He figures he can probably get some of his photos printed to hang on the walls. Maybe they could buy some hard-to-kill plants. There’d be enough room for Mark to have a couple guitars next to the window in the living room if he wanted to. 

Maybe they could get a pet. They wouldn’t be as busy as they used to be. A cat could be manageable with their schedules. Ten and WayV have been taking care of a cat and a dog for the past two years; Johnny figures he and Mark could manage something.

He also can't wait to tell the others, can't wait to see their shocked expressions. Hopefully none of them will be as disapproving as Yuta, though Johnny figures they’ll probably have a lot of explaining to do when they get back. It’s hard to go from noticeably hostile to being in a relationship without being at least a little suspicious. Johnny can practically hear Doyoung saying, "I told you not to kill him, so you come back with him as your boyfriend?" It makes Johnny chuckle.

"You know you look really creepy when you just sit there by yourself and laugh at nothing." Before Johnny can say anything else, Mark is flopping down on top of him, dripping wet with ocean water.

"Oh my god," he exclaims, trying to push Mark off. "You're all cold and clammy."

Mark cackles. "Clammy," he repeats to himself, like it's the funniest word he's ever heard. 

Johnny realizes now that they don't have any proper towels. He smiles as Mark rolls himself against the blanket, trying to get as much water off himself as possible before he gets too chilly. Goosebumps erupt across his skin, and Johnny reaches out to trace across the texture.

"That tickles," Mark murmurs, face down on the blanket and trying to squirm away from where Johnny's fingers are trailing against his ribcage. 

_He's beautiful,_ Johnny thinks. His heart feels incredibly full. 

"Hey," he says, poking Mark in the ribs.

"Hey," Mark echoes.

"I love you."

Mark grin, soft and lazy. Under Vancouver's summer sun, in front of the ocean, he looks like everything Johnny has ever wanted. Whatever comes their way when they get home, Johnny knows it’ll turn out alright because he’ll have Mark by his side. "I love you, too," Mark replies. He grabs Johnny's hand where it still rests against his ribs and laces their fingers together. Jonny holds on tight.

They don't waste an entire day in bed like they did in Paris, but Johnny thinks that Mark is trying his best.

"Don't you want to go sight-seeing?" Johnny asks, attempting to roll out of bed after a particularly rousing exchange of blowjobs.

"I lived here for, like, five years, Johnny. I don't need to go _sight-seeing_."

"You told me three days ago that you didn't live in Vancouver! Think of all the stuff you missed living in the suburbs. Think of all the stuff that's changed in 10 years."

Mark makes a face. "That just makes me feel old," he says, rolling over so that his back is to Johnny. 

10 years is a long time, Johnny thinks. He's known Mark for the entirety of that time. If he could go back, he doesn't think 18-year-old Johnny would believe all the things that have happened to them: the albums, the tours, the awards. This relationship. 10 years ago this all felt out of reach.

"Hey," Johnny says to Mark's back. "Stop being petulant. Let's do something today."

Mark looks over his shoulder, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. "I can think of something you could do."

Johnny blinks. He really did want to go out today, but Mark's being bratty and persistent. Johnny can get on board with that.

"This is how it's going to be today, then?" Johnny asks. It was a good thing he didn't end up getting around to putting on his underwear. He slides back under the covers and presses up against Mark's back. Mark sighs prettily, preening under the attention. "You're going to waste a perfectly good day in a beautiful city because you want to get fucked?"

"Don't you want to fuck me?" Mark asks sweetly. "We've got so much time to make up for, hyung."

Johnny doesn't point out that they have all the time in the world, in whatever cities Mark wants. 

"Do you think you deserve to be fucked?" he asks instead, reaching around Mark to tweak a nipple. Mark gasps. "You've been pretty annoying this morning."

"I gave you a blowjobs," Mark complains as Johnny skates his hand down Mark's torso. "How was that annoying?"

"Even with your mouth full of dick you can't stop talking, hmm?" Johnny's hand circles Mark's cock. It's not fully hard, but it's trying hard to get back in the game. Johnny needs a little more time himself, but he's sure by the time he's done teasing Mark he'll be more than ready to go again.

He fondles the head of Mark’s dick, ignores the way Mark whines from the dryness. His hips twitch forward, like they’re trying to get away, but Johnny hauls him in close, traps him with a leg thrown over both of Mark’s.

“Sensitive?” Johnny asks. He ruts his hips against Mark’s ass, soft cock sliding along the cleft. “Does my baby need a break?”

“Don’t be such a dick,” Mark wheezes. He’s clinging to the arm Johnny has wrapped around his chest.

“Don’t be such a brat,” Johnny counters. Mark’s cock is fully hard now, pre-come starting to bead at the tip. He sighs when Johnny pulls away, tipping his face into the pillows while Johnny strokes a comforting hand down his side. “Pass me the lube,” he says.

They’d left the lube on Mark’s bedside table, unpacked on the first day with their toiletries. Mark reaches across the bed blindly, hand slapping around on the table until he makes contact. Johnny rolls his eyes fondly.

He likes that sex with Mark isn’t all serious all the time. It’s nice, being able to laugh a little and not worry too much about impressing each other. They’ve both come a long way since they started sleeping with each other, and despite the break in their relationship, Johnny still thinks he knows Mark’s body just as well as his own.

He lifts one of Mark’s legs, bending it back so it can rest on his own hip. Mark shivers in anticipation when Johnny snaps open the cap on the lube, whines when Johnny presses one slicked up finger to his hole.

Johnny doesn’t press in right away, though. He takes his time, massaging around the rim, pressing against Mark’s perineum until he’s shaking, soft little whimpers leaving his mouth unbidden. Sweat is starting to stick their bodies together, but Johnny doesn’t care. He wants to drag this out, tease Mark as much as he can. 

“Hyung,” Mark gasps, trying to push his hips back to sink himself on Johnny’s finger. “Hyung, please.”

“Thought you wanted to spend the day in bed,” Johnny says. He spreads a little more lube across his finger and finally, _finally_ presses it into Mark. Mark keens. “Can’t really do that if I get you off too soon, hmm? I know you, Mark Lee, and you’ll come too quickly if I let you.”

Mark sobs. His hips twitch as Johnny presses all the way in with one finger and just pauses. He fondles Mark’s balls, tweaks a nipple. Sucks a Mark into the back of Mark’s neck, forces so much stimulation that Mark doesn’t know what to focus on. Johnny wants to drive him insane.

He takes his time fingering Mark, only pressing in a second when Mark’s hole finally relaxes around the first. Syrupy sweet and easy. He works the second finger in, scissors them until Mark whines. His own cock is hard and leaking, but it feels secondary to the task at hand. Johnny wants Mark so delirious with pleasure he won’t remember anything but Johnny’s name.

“Please,” Mark whimpers when Johnny presses against his prostate. His cock is dripping onto the sheets. “Please, add another.”

“You think you deserve it?” Johnny asks, even as he teases the third finger against Mark’s rim. “After how bratty you were this morning?”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says around a sob. “Hyung, I’m sorry. Please. Want to come.”

The apologies tug at Johnny’s heartstrings and take him out of the moment. They remind him of the way Mark had apologized in Paris, in the airport in Chicago. Johnny doesn’t want that.

“Hmm, yeah, you’re so good, aren’t you?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss behind Mark’s ear. He slicks up a third finger and presses it into Mark next to the others. “You want to come now or on my cock?”

“Now,” Mark demands. Johnny crooks his fingers, forcing a desperate sound from Mark’s mouth.

“That’s not a very polite way to ask permission, baby,” he says. He can’t help but rut against Mark’s ass; his cock is so hard, just from watching how whiney and pliant Mark has gotten in the last few minutes.

“Please, please, now,” Mark begs. “Need it so badly.”

“Yeah, and to think I already got you to come in my mouth this morning,” Johnny tsks, but he picks up the pace, fucking Mark on his fingers. “You gonna come when I fuck you, too? You’re not as young as you used to be, baby.”

“Younger -- younger than you, hyung,” Mark gasps. It earns him a slap to the thigh he’s got hooked over Johnny’s hip. 

“Don’t be such a brat or else I’ll leave you hanging,” Johnny warns. 

“Hyung - “

Johnny spreads his fingers the way he knows Mark likes, screwing them in at the perfect angle to hit Mark’s prostate. “Let go for me, baby,” Johnny whispers. He watches the way Mark’s dick bounces, red at the tip and so, so wet. “Come on.”

Mark inhales sharply, entire body locking up against Johnny’s. Johnny feels the way Mark tightens on his fingers, the way Mark’s breath stutters on the exhale when he comes, dick twitching untouched as he spills against the sheets. Johnny stills his fingers, lets Mark clench against the weight of them and ride out his orgasm.

“There you go,” Johnny murmurs. He strokes a hand across Mark’s chest, trying to soothe the trembling. “So good for me, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. His tongue sounds heavy, sounds slurring together. “Want -- want you now, please.”

“You have me,” Johnny says. “Always.”

“Hyung,” Mark says. He pushes his hips back, whines as the movement jostles Johnny’s fingers still inside him. 

“You okay?” Johnny asks, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, please, want to feel you,” Mark replies. “Want to feel full.”

Johnny spreads his fingers again, kissing Mark’s sweaty neck when he keens. “You’re not full enough, yet?” he asks. “So greedy”

“Hyung,” Mark begs.

Johnny’s dick kicks against Mark’s back, just as eager as Mark to keep going. Mark giggles lightly into the pillow, buries his whine there too when Johnny finally pulls his fingers free. He finds the lube, discarded in the sheets, and squeezes some more into his hand, slicks up his cock. The pressure feels good, and Johnny lets himself take the edge off just a bit, strokes the lube along his cock and sighs at the pressure.

“Johnny, hurry up,” Mark says impatiently. 

“Wait your turn,” Johnny replies, but he’s already notching the head of his dick against Mark’s slick rim. Mark gasps, hips trying to cant backwards, but Johnny holds him steady with one hand around his chest, the other spreading Mark’s ass so that he can slide all the way in.

It feels so good. Johnny’s cock aches, it’s so hard, and he has to pause for a moment just to make sure he won’t come right away. Mark squirms a little, whining pitifully, though Johnny isn’t sure if it’s because it feels like it’s too much or if it’s too good. 

“You good, baby?” he gasps, pressing his face into the pillow for a moment to collect himself.

“Full,” Mark sobs. “Feels, really full. ‘S good, Johnny.”

“Good,” Johnny echoes. He strokes across Mark’s chest again, hand trailing up across Mark’s throat to his lips. Mark takes two of his fingers into his mouth easily, moaning around them as Johnny finally begins to move his hips.

Johnny hates to sound like a romantic sap, but fucking Mark never gets old. It feels new every time, feels special and intimate, like they’re only two people in the world. Johnny doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of how -- nice it is to be with Mark. 

“I love you,” he says, because he can. They can’t fuck very fast on their sides, but Mark is still shivering from oversensitivity, and Johnny isn’t in any hurry. He sets a steady pace, rocking into Mark gently.

“Love you, too,” Mark says, garbled around Johnny’s fingers. It makes Johnny laugh. He pulls his fingers free, props himself up so Mark can turn his head and meet him halfway for a kiss. “This is the worst angle for kisses,” Mark complains when Johnny pulls back.

“Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you later,” Johnny replies with a smile. 

The end is quick, after that. Johnny is good, but he can’t hold out forever. He fucks into Mark faster, sloppier, drawing cries from Mark’s mouth that he knows Mark will be embarrassed about later. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Johnny grunts. He lets go of Mark’s hip, slides his hand down across Mark’s lower belly to find his dick. It’s mostly soft, and Mark whines when he rubs the slit. “Too much?” he asks.

“I don’t think -- fuck -- I don’t think I can go again,” Mark gasps. There are tears dripping down his face, and he turns into the pillow to wipe them away. 

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mark babbles. “Come in me. Want it, please, hyung.”

“And who am I to deny my baby, hmm?” Johnny asks. “Tighten up a little for me.”

Mark clenches down on Johnny’s cock, whining at how sensitive everything feels. Johnny fucks into Mark a handful more times before he feels his orgasm crest. He grinds in, deep as he can get, and spills his release. Mark sighs.

They lie there for several long minutes, trying to get their bearings. Johnny feels like he’s run a marathon; two orgasms in the morning are apparently too much for him these days. Mark looks like he’s close to passing out, but he still whimpers when Johnny moves to pull out of him.

“Don’t,” he says, voice cracking around the word. “Don’t want to be empty.”

Johnny sighs. It’ll be uncomfortable soon, when his cock is soft, but for now he indulges Mark. “I spoil you,” he says against the back of Mark’s neck, sucking a mark there. He feels Mark clench around him weakly.

“Yeah, and I really appreciate it,” Mark replies. He squeezes the hand Johnny still has against Mark’s chest. “Thanks, hyung. Love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too,” Johnny says tenderly. It’s easy to be lulled into sleep after that, the sun sneaking in through the gap in the curtains, Mark’s steady breathing barely audible over the air conditioning. They’ll be cold once the sweat cools, but Johnny can’t bring himself to care as he nods off too.

They don’t spend the entire day in bed, but by the time they wake up again it’s mid-afternoon. Johnny finally drags Mark out of the hotel, but they mostly stick to the downtown area, wandering in and out of shops and ducking into the shadows of stadiums and arenas.

“I played there,” Mark says, nodding at the smaller of two buildings separated by a bustling street. 

“With SuperM,” Johnny clarifies.

“Well, duh,” Mark replies. “It wasn’t with you.”

“But we’ll get there, right?” Johnny asks.

Mark bites his lip. He looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. Instead, he settles on, “Yeah, hyung. We’ll play there, too,” before dragging Johnny off down a set of stairs that takes them into Chinatown.

Johnny snaps as many photos as he can. It’s interesting to go through different parts of the city and witness how it changes. Here, the buildings are older, more historic. The businesses are local establishments, pubs and restaurants and small stores that can’t be found anywhere else. Johnny has a better idea of what Vancouver must have been like when it was first starting out. The area where their hotel is located is surrounded by modern, glass buildings and well-known retail stores. Here, it’s like stepping back in time. 

They’re wandering through an area Johnny remembers from The Origin tour -- passing by a steam clock that he vaguely remembers taking a picture in front of -- when something catches his eye in a window. It’s largely a tourist shop, but hanging in the storefront is a soccer jersey.

“Oh my god,” he says gleefully, tugging on Mark’s hand so he stops. “I think I just found the perfect gift for Yuta.”

Mark giggles. “I was only sort of kidding about you finding him a gift,” he says.

“Regardless, I’m sure this will help me win him over when we get home,” Johnny replies. He glances at the logo over the breast of the jersey and snaps his fingers. “Whitecaps,” he says. “We passed the team store back this way.”

“Just buy it from here,” Mark complains as Johnny drags him back the way they came.

“And pay the markup from a third-party vendor? I don’t think so.”

They spend way more time -- and money -- in the official team store than Johnny thought they would. He finds a jersey for Yuta easily enough, but there are a couple shirts that catch his eye too, and he spots Mark eyeing up a jacket on the other side of the store. Johnny adds the shirt and the jacket to his growing stack of clothing before pausing in front of a hat display. 

He doesn’t wear baseball hats a lot in regular day-to-day wear. That’s always been more of Mark’s style. But there’s a plain white one with a blue brim and a rainbow logo splashed across the front that catches his eye. He feels his breath stutter out of his chest. 

“That’s our Pride hat,” a sales associate says, stopping next to Johnny and offering him a genuine smile. “Pretty nice, hey? I like that it’s not super rainbow-y so you can still wear it with a lot of different looks, but it still represents the movement. Can I put those items behind the counter for you while you’re still looking around?”

Johnny startles a little, but hands his bundle of clothes to the associate. When he’s alone again he calls, “Mark.” Once Mark’s crossed the store to him, he adds, “Do you like this?”

Mark eyes the hat speculatively. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Do you?”

“Would you wear it?” Johnny asks, bypassing Mark’s question.

Mark shrugs. “I mean, I guess,” he says. “But you know what wearing these kinds of things at home would mean, don’t you?”

Johnny does. It means supporting a movement that somehow still doesn’t have a lot of public traction in Korea. It also means inviting speculation into his own life, leaving room for rumours to grow online. 

At this point, Johnny doesn’t really care.

“I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Johnny says, plucking one of the hats off the display. “And I’m not ashamed of you.”

Mark’s face goes pink. “I’m not ashamed of you either,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “I just -- I don’t want that kind of attention, hyung.”

“And that’s okay,” Johnny reassures. “You don’t have to wear it in public, but I think it would be a nice souvenir for the trip. Just hang it on the wall or something.”

Mark nods his head. “I -- okay,” he says, still looking uncertain. 

“Mark, you don’t have to have one if you don’t want it.”

Mark looks at him with wide, considering eyes. Johnny wonders what he sees. Maybe someone stupid, or maybe someone brave, but hopefully someone that can be trusted. Johnny would do anything to keep Mark safe from the nasty things people say, and he hopes that Mark knows that. 

“No, I want it,” Mark says after a long moment. He stands up straight, squares his shoulders, and pulls a hat off the display. “Maybe I won’t wear it right away, but I want to have it for when I’m ready.”

Johnny tugs him in with an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to Mark’s temple. “Proud of you,” he whispers, then adds, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mark says aggressively. Johnny smiles.

They pay for all their gear and meander out onto the street again. It’s evening now, and though they still have several hours of daylight left, Johnny doesn’t want to wander too far from their hotel. They trudge up the hill towards where they started from, completing one large loop of several of Vancouver’s downtown neighbourhoods. 

“See, we were productive today,” Mark says when the green-tinted roof of their hotel comes into view. “We had some stellar morning sex _and_ we bought everyone souvenirs.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “King of Planning,” he replies, which just makes Mark preen more. 

“It’s not like you didn’t enjoy yourself, too,” Mark complains as they enter the lobby. Johnny wants to drop off their bags before they go in search of dinner. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” Johnny replies. “What I am saying, however, is if you try to keep us in bed all day tomorrow I’m going to have to punish you.”

The tips of Mark’s ears go red as the elevator door dings open. The passengers get off, and when the car is empty Mark trails Johnny inside. When the doors slide shut again he says, “Is that a promise?”

Johnny groans. “You’re insatiable,” he says, but he presses a kiss to Mark’s cheek, anyway. 

Still. He’s not letting them waste their last day of vacation.

They spend the next day climbing up a mountain.

Mark takes one look at the pamphlet Johnny offers him in the morning and says, “I didn’t bring the right shoes.”

“I think running shoes will be okay,” Johnny replies, rooting through Mark’s suitcase for the pair of Nikes he knows are hidden in its depths. “Obviously they recommend hiking or trail shoes, but apparently people have done the hike in flip flops, so. I’d say we’re pretty safe with good running shoes.”

Mark makes a face. “You’re going to make me do physical activity outside of this bed on our last day?” he whines, but he climbs out of bed to find some appropriate hiking clothes.

They take a shuttle from their hotel to the base of Grouse Mountain. There’s a bag check station that will deliver their gear to the top of the mountain, which they utilize, and then they’re on their way. The trail is fairly busy already, with plenty of people trekking up the stairs through the forest, but Johnny doesn’t mind. It feels nice just to be doing some kind of cardio besides aimlessly wandering around cities. And having sex.

“I feel like you didn’t think this through very well, hyung,” Mark says, less than halfway up the trail.

“Why’s that?” Johnny asks. There’s a pleasant ache running through his legs already.

“Because I’m going to complain about how much my body hurts for the entire flight back to Korea tomorrow.”

Johnny just laughs. “Good thing I have noise-cancelling headphones,” he calls back.

Mark is a good sport, though. The hike isn’t exactly leisurely, and it’s probably not the most ideal way to spend a last day of vacation, but it’s something that Johnny would probably never get to do at home. Seoul has plenty of hiking spots around the city, but there’s something about this trail, the tall coastal trees and lush underbrush that makes this unique.

“I can’t believe people have done this in 23 minutes,” Mark pants. 

“Let’s aim for an hour and a half,” Johnny suggests. “We’re still fit enough to manage that, right?”

“I hope so,” Mark replies. “The faster we get to the top the faster it’s all over.”

Johnny laughs, breathlessly. 

In the end, the view is worth it. They stand, gasping, at the apex, staring down at the city laid out before them. Johnny can pick out where they had walked along the waterfront the first night, glittering across the water from them. He’s surprised by how much green space there is before them, trees sprouting all across the cityscape.

“C’mon,” Mark says, tugging on Johnny’s arm once they’ve caught their breath. “Let’s grab our bags. I know you want to take, like, a billion pictures right now.”

Johnny doesn’t take a billion pictures, but he takes a lot. He uses his phone and his film camera, and they vlog a little to add to the sparse footage they’ve managed to capture over the rest of their time in Vancouver. Since they got back together, vlogging has felt like an afterthought; Johnny can’t fathom sharing any part of the rest of this vacation with the public when he’s certain that his adoration for Mark is written all over his face.

They settle on a bench after Johnny feels like he’s collected enough photos. Mark passes him a water bottle from his bag and cracks open his own. He manages to spill a quarter of it on himself when he squeezes the bottle too hard.

“Nice,” Johnny says. Mark just scowls at him. “Hey, thanks for doing this with me.”

“Yeah, like I had a choice?” Mark replies with a grin. “Besides, I couldn’t let you go alone. What if you tripped and fell down the mountain or something?”

“Wow, my hero,” Johnny deadpans. He throws an arm over Mark’s body, pulls them close together even though they’re sweaty and tired. “But you did have a choice, Mark. You always do. And I’m glad you chose to come with me.”

_I’m glad you chose me,_ is what he doesn’t say out loud.

Mark hums. He takes another sip of his water -- managing not to spill it all in the process -- and says, “Hyung. Have you thought a lot about what you’re going to do when we go back?”

Johnny shrugs. “Not in particular,” he says, thinking back to the original enlistment plan that had been presented to them over the course of their careers, the amended version that was given to them after Mark announced he was suspending activities to go on this trip. “Whatever the company wants me to do, I guess.”

Mark makes a face, like he’s unhappy with the answer. “They have so much control over you, yet they don’t give you anything,” he says, frustrated. 

Johnny pulls back, puts some space between them so that he can really see Mark’s face. “What’s this about?” he asks. He thinks about Sydney, about how Mark had mentioned he’d been ignoring calls from the company. 

Mark blows out a long breath. “Have you -- have you ever thought about a unit project?”

Johnny’s brow furrows. “Sure,” he says. “I mean, not in detail, but I’ve thought about what kind of configurations they might give us for NCT U projects.”

“Ah, that’s not what I meant,” Mark says, running a hand through his hair. “I guess. I meant. Have you ever thought about a unit project … with me?”

Truthfully, Johnny hadn’t. He’d always thought, maybe, if he got to have a duo project with anyone it would be Taeyong, but it makes sense to do it with Mark, too. Their voices balanced each other well, and they had the potential to do projects entirely in English, if the company wanted.

“Not really,” Johnny admits when he realizes he’d left Mark hanging. “Not that I wouldn’t want to. I just. Hadn’t thought about it.”

Mark’s mouth twists. He turns to look out over the city again. “I took a call from the company when we were in Paris,” he says, which confirms the tiny suspicion Johnny had in the back of his mind.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Johnny says carefully. 

Mark shrugs, jostling the arm Johnny has over his shoulders. “They want me back to work pretty soon after we get back,” he says, “but I told them I didn’t want any extra projects. The board gave me an ultimatum.”

Unconsciously, Johnny squeezes Mark’s shoulder, anger bubbling up inside him. He knows what they signed up for six years ago, what they agreed to when they signed new contracts with SM earlier in the year, but it doesn’t mean that the company can jerk their artists around like this. It doesn’t mean they can treat Mark so poorly when he’s the ace of SM Entertainment.

“You don’t have to agree to it,” Johnny says. “You can turn whatever it is down. I’ll support you.”

Mark turns to him then, his expression stricken. His eyes are wide and glassy with emotion. “You say that now, but I haven’t even told you what it is, yet,” he says. “And then you’ll be upset with me.”

Johnny frowns. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Because they offered me a unit project with you.”

For a split second, Johnny’s heart stops. Everything around them seems to freeze. Johnny can pick out immaculate details about their surroundings, from the way the gondola belt squeaks as it goes around the bull wheel, to the way Mark’s hair ruffles in the slight breeze. 

He mulls over what Mark said. A unit project with Mark. Something separate than a song or two with NCT U, or a station song. Closer to EXO-SC, with more creative freedom to sing about what they wanted, create the images for themselves that they’d want. It feels like a dream, but he remembers what Mark had said. That Johnny would be upset by the offer the company had given him. 

“What’s the catch?”

“What?” Mark asks, surprised. 

“You said it was an ultimatum. What’s the flipside to the deal?” Johnny asks, trying to get his heartbeat to calm down in his chest.

“If I don’t agree to do a unit with you, they’ll make me do a solo album,” Mark says quietly. He won’t meet Johnny’s eye, like he’s ashamed by the offer.

“And you don’t want either?”

Mark blows out a frustrated breath. “I’d do the unit with you,” he says. “But I hate that they used you against me. I told them -- I told them I was mad because they never give you any projects and so they twisted what I said and presented me with this option.”

It’s not -- ideal. Johnny would certainly rather have Mark agree to a unit project with him because it was something he wanted, not the lesser of two evils. 

“And I was afraid you’d be mad at me.” Mark’s voice is soft, quivering when he admits this. Johnny’s eyes widen.

“Why would I be mad at you?” he asks.

Mark shrugs again. “I thought maybe you’d be upset that I waited this long to tell you. Or that you’d be upset that I’m being forced into this. I was afraid you’d think I was only doing this out of obligation to you, and that you’d end up resenting me for it later.”

Johnny’s heart swells with emotion. “Come here,” he says, dragging Mark in for a rather sweaty hug. Mark muffles a sob into his shoulder, and Johnny squeezes tighter. He’s probably seen Mark cry more often on this trip than he has in the entire time they’ve known each other, and he hates that. 

“I’m upset that the company is forcing you into this,” he whispers, petting Mark’s hair gently. “But I’m not upset with you. They’ll do anything for a dollar and they don’t always care about us. But I care about us. I care about _you_ , Mark, and if we do this, I promise to protect you.”

“And if we don’t?” Mark asks tentatively.

Johnny exhales slowly. It’s true that he’s not afforded as many opportunities as Mark, but maybe that’s something he can change, too. For a long time he’s been waiting for projects to come to him, but maybe he needs to pursue what he wants himself. Change his perspective; change his attitude.

“I won’t hold that against you. Not ever. You’re more important to me than a unit project.”

Mark pulls back. His eyes are rimmed red, but it doesn’t look like he shed too many tears. Still, Johnny reaches out and rubs his thumbs under Mark’s eyes, across the thin skin there. 

“If you want to do the project with me, I want to do it with you,” Mark says. “I -- Even though I’m tired, I could do it with you, hyung. I know that. And I wouldn’t resent you for it. Not ever.”

“Mark - “ Johnny starts, but Mark cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I want -- I want us to be in control of this, and I think we can leverage that to the company,” he says. “You’re a good producer, hyung, and we can both write lyrics. And there are nice people in the company who can help us. I just don’t want to give them more than they’ve already taken from me.”

“And I won’t let them,” Johnny says fiercely. 

Mark grins, soft and sweet. He leans in and kisses Johnny chastely. “I love you,” he whispers against Johnny’s lips.

It’s funny. At the beginning of the trip, almost a month ago, Johnny hated everything about Mark. It wasn’t just the heartbreak that fueled him; Mark genuinely did things that annoyed Johnny straight down to his bones. But with each passing city, the anger faded. The animosity petered out. They relearned each other, and they relearned what it meant to belong to each other. The dirty laundry was aired, and now there’s nothing hidden between them anymore. 

Tokyo, Sydney, Paris, Chicago, Vancouver. Tomorrow, they fly back to Seoul, back to reality. It feels strange, to be heading back to the hustle and bustle of idol life after spending so much time detached from it now, and now they’ll have negotiations to go through. They’ll have to fight to have the freedom they gained on this trip reflected in the music they create together, and then they’ll have to work harder on this unit project than anything else before. Now that Johnny’s had a taste of independence, he craves more of it.

He glances at where Mark has settled against him, head resting against his shoulder. Almost anything seems possible now. The future looks less bleak to Johnny. He can picture sunlit rooms in his apartment, photographs hanging on the walls, tiny Eiffel Towers dotted across bookshelves. Mark, writing lyrics in a new notebook at the kitchen table; lying in bed in one of Johnny’s t-shirts; trying not to burn a frying pan full of eggs in the kitchen. Everywhere Johnny turns, now, he can picture Mark, filling up the spaces in his life that he’d left behind, and then some.

In front of them, the endless view of Vancouver and the surrounding area stretches out to the horizon. It’s a beautiful day; Johnny can’t wait to see what the next day has in store for them.

“I love you, too,” he finally says, dropping a kiss onto the top of Mark’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the nct 127 song of the same name

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/monstplaza) or on [cc](http://curiouscat.me/monstplaza)


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